All's Fair in Love and War - IC

[RebelRogue]

News of the Maltirian invasion has reached Port Elektra, and the consequences are everywhere: the goods are rationed, ploughs are turned to swords and capable men and woman are drafted to do service at the front. Some choose to do their duty freely, others less so.

Whatever your reasons, you all arrive at the improvised camp set up just north of Port Elektra. The ubiquitous thunderstorm of the temple seems even darker out here, and a light rain falls on this cloudy day. You all take a look around at the others assigned to this division, about twenty individuals in total. A few voices are heard talking, but overall the rain is the prevalent sound.

After a few seconds of waiting, a blond, battlescarred man in shiny chainmail armor exits a nearby tent and takes a good, hard look at you with his piercing, green eyes. Those not too intimidated by his gaze and impressive physique notice his sword and shield made out of some semi-transparant, non-metallic material. His military decorations indicate, that he's a sergeant.

You may or may not want to wait for Sergeant Thirsk to speak up first, but feel free to introduce your characters anyway.

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail Lureba'an, Gray Elf Psion

From somewhere a few rows back, a pair of intense eyes note the sergeant's unique armament from within the shadows of a gray and violet cloak shroud.

Interesting. Deep crystal equipment. On an officer? I wasn't aware there were many commissioned psionicists fighting in this war.

The owner of the eyes side-steps, bending his lithe frame through a gap in the crowd and lowering his hood to get a closer look. He does not appear concerned by the gentle rain now falling on his head and neck. Fat droplets bead and roll down the slender, pointed ears of a Gray Elf in the prime of his youth. A tightly-braided cord of silver hair quickly begins to drip with moisture as well, but the elven psion's focused gaze does not even seem to register the wetness. A small amber gemstone in an intricate silver setting hangs just below his hairline, suspended against his forehead by a chain of fine crystalline links.

Mmm. Certainly psionic. Not a discipline I recognize, though. Certainly not a member of the Lodge Luminous. Weapons aside, he doesn't have the look of a Psychic Warrior about him, and given that he has weapons at all, probably not one of those Soulknives we've been hearing about lately. Very interesting indeed.

Inside the voluminous sleeves of his robe, one of the elf's hands subconsciously finds its way to the textured handle of a crystalline dagger. The weapon hung from the waist of its wearer on a longer length of glass-like chain, but had it been visible, it would have been immediately evident that the item saw very little use as a combat item. The elf blinks in surprise and looks down when he realizes what his hand is holding, and he releases the dagger with a silent snort.

Hardly the way to make a first impression. 'Look at me, I have one too!' Still, I'm surprised he hasn't glanced this way. Perhaps he can't feel me, though, even so close.

The elf's thin lips curl into a small smile as he makes his way to the second row of those assembled.

A subtle hint, then. He'll notice soon enough. Come then, stone. Look like something other than a piece of jewelry for a few minutes, if you can be bothered.

Somewhere deep in the psion's head, a shadow-shard of his mind flickers in amusement. A small voice whispers quietly. To the elf, it seems an eerie echo of how his own thoughts usually sound. He shakes his head. He's almost used to it, now. Almost.

So eager. I'm rubbing off on you, you know. You'd never have bothered with this a few months ago, but now...if you insist...

With no further action on the part of the elf, the primary gem in his head-ornament slips free and takes up position over his left shoulder, floating gently. The ornament it left behind still manages to seem a complete piece of silver-work even without the crystal, and has obviously been designed for this sort of dual usage.

He'll notice. Won't react, though, except his eyes. Just give him a minute.

[MCerberus]

Oliver: Age 17

Windsiege plods along the softened earth slowly as Oliver looked over his new comrades. Still just an initiate and seperated from all of his kinsmen at once for the first time, he was nervous, but he didn't show it. Rain deflected from his cloak's hood, away from his short cut brown hair or his face. Oliver still wore his war paint from the last engagement, but it is now faded, dirty, and running slightly. He cannot smile right now. The day was dark and a foreboding sense filled the air.

Oliver makes his way over the sergeant slowly but with purpose. His familiar, Thres screeches overhead. Before speaking, the sorcerer looks over the man making a quick appraisal. He offers his hand to the man, revealing his torn clothing and lack of any armor.

"I'm the weirder they sent over from the clan. I assume we'll be doing some witch hunting before too long," Oliver remarks, a small grin crawling across his lips.

[Rhiannon87]

Andra is furious.

Drafted into the damn army. They didn't want her-- she was a poor kid from the slums, a waitress turned vigilante! What idiot in the military decided that she'd be a good pick for the army life?! Someone was going to pay for this. Maltiri was a problem, sure, but the invasion wasn't her problem. Her problems were the people back home who needed her, a kid sister who depended on her and a long list of folks depending on her to solve their problems and right their wrongs. The army didn't need her like they did.

She stands near the back of the group, hood of her cloak shoved back, her short brown hair soaked and water dripping into her eyes. She crosses her arms across her chest, and glares so hard at the officer that if she'd been a psion his head probably would have exploded by now.

[Marillion]

Vachel

Vachel knew intimidation. He'd grown up on the street. Vachel knew glory. He'd grown up surrounded by the trappings of the temple of Heironeous. But this man...This man was something else. Oh, sure, the priests had done battle, in the past. But that was days gone by, and this! This sergeant wasn't an old, stooped veteran with nothing left but stories and a penchant for scaring children. This sergeant was a man who had seen battles, fought battles, even WON battles, and so recently! How could Vachel be anything BUT intimidated and awed by him?

But he could not show it. What if the sergeant thought him a coward? A fate worse than death at the hands of those Maltirian dogs, surely.

His blond hair fell into his green eyes, and began tickling his nose. It occurred to him that it may have been a good idea to tie his hair back, or braid it, or shear it off...But he had a soft spot for his hair, and it was technically regulation collar length. Still, though, the itching was beyond belief...And he could not scratch it, for to do that would be to call attention to him, and show that he was unable to handle something so trivial as hair in his face, how could he handle a sword in his face? So he stood at attention, ignoring the itch, waiting for the speech to be over so that he could finally scratch and find a damn ribbon.

[Febreezium]

Thirsk looks down at the extended hand and says "Back in line, soldier," not unkindly. He then surveys his squad, his eyes flickering at the crystal on the elf's shoulder but his expression unmoved. He looks them over again, slowly, and then steps forward.

"Alright then. I'm Sergeant Malcolm Thirsk. You may call me sir, for now. If you survive our first battle, you can call me Sergeant and I will stop calling you by some random, defining feature and instead use your actual name. Survive the second one, and you can call me Sarge. When we get back, when the war is over, if you've managed to dodge arrows and spells for that long, you can call me Thirsk.

"Save my life and you can call me Malcolm. This will be a punishment for both of us.

"Anyway, I'm the one who's been given the loving task of turning you civilians into glorious soldiers. We don't have a lot of time, so I'm going to need to know what you can do and how well you can do it, quickly. Starting with you, Elfy."

He grins, clearly enjoying himself despite the harsh tone.

[OOC: Seeing as I'm not likely to be around when most people are, feel free to post however you would show Thirsk what you can do. The order would be;

Elfy - Blue Chicken
Patches - Mr. T
Vicious - Rhiannon87
Grinner - MCerberus
Padre - Marillion

if you care about such things; couldn't care less people if people posted out of turn. At any rate, try not to attack / kill me, please! :smallwink:]

[OOC: Edited for typos.]

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln 'Patches' Sahar - human fighter

A quite large well-build man stands to the front of the group, forcing those right behind him to sprain their necks in an attempt to see the sergeant. His outfit appears to be a ragtag of fine clothing put on in a hurry, it also doesn't have a cloak and the man is wiping water from his bald scalp and eyes constantly, clearly not used to the 'hardships' of being outdoors when it rains. Next to him stands a glaive, it's ornated blade stuck in the mud.

Even though his posture is quite intimidating the man looks completely out of place in the military, not to mention in this muddy field. His shoulders are hanging down and the sergeant can see by his face that he is being tortured by something.

When the sergeant turns to him the man takes a small step forward and puts his arms over eachother, raising his shoulders and suddenly looking a lot more capable. "I'm Veln Sa... Veln. I'm a warrior, and more than any other warrior I kill people, or threats, whichever you prefer. Once we encounter those filthy sorcerers I can assure you they'll have me in their face, and my glaive in their neck." Veln spits on the ground and steps back, almost causing a man that stepped in behind him to fall over.

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail Lureba'an, Gray Elfy Psion

Ric'lail's conscious mind missed a beat as the officer addressed him. He paused for a brief moment, his eyes narrowing as they cut to the crystal hovering over his shoulder.

You...I never would have done that without you prodding me. There was no reason to draw attention. He's a soldier; he's not going to be impressed by a show-off elven scholar and his floating pet rock!

What? Me? It was your idea.

Was it? I'm not sure which ideas are mine, anymore. Either way, we have to learn to work together, or neither of us will survive to decide who thinks what. Now focus! For now let's just prove that we can do something useful.

The inner debate occurs at the speed of thought, and Ric'lail turns his attention to the officer with less than a heartbeat of hesitation. He inclines his head respectfully, opting not to include any more formal elven courtesies for fear of offending the man's evident practical sensibilities.

"Ric'lail Lureba'an...sir."

The unfamiliar honorific sticks to his his tongue. Strange, to be calling someone sir. Not that an officer didn't deserve the title or the respect; elven culture simply avoided such designations altogether, and the experience of speaking aloud what he had previously only read about...he shakes off the awkwardness and forges ahead.

"Psion. Representing the Port Elektra chapter of the Lodge Luminous. Kineticist by specialization. I've studied the manipulation of matter and energy extensively, and I..."

Idiot! He doesn't care! SHOW him, don't try to explain it!

He cuts off, something subtle shifting in his facial expression. He nods to himself and raises a hand, palm up.

"...well, I do this."

A soft bass hum builds from nowhere as a glimmering shard of translucent crystal materializes above his outstretched fingers. It spins slowly at first, then gathers rotational speed as it pulls matter from the Astral Plane to fuel its growth. It increases in size and quickly builds to the dimensions of a large dagger or a very short sword; the wicked point on its thin, angular top is certainly of comparable sharpness. Ric'lail turns from the Sergeant and extends his hand toward an archery target nearby. The crystal tilts with the movement off his arm, then streaks off, shattering into a hail of irregular fragments just before it hits its mark. The shrapnel drives into the thickly baled hay of the target's face, smoking faintly for a moment before evaporating into nothingness.

"Among other things, of course, but you...get the idea."

With another respectful bob of his head, the Psion steps back into the ranks and folds his arms to wait for the next demonstration.

[Rhiannon87]

Andra glares at the two men who speak up, showing off their combat abilities. She turns her attention back to Thirsk. "I don't do anything the army would find particularly valuable," she says, barely keeping the sneer out of her voice. The longbow on her back suggests otherwise, but she doesn't even acknowledge it. "Before I got dragged down here I spent most of my time helping the kind of people the guard and the army ignored." She raises her chin, clearly defiant. "So I guess I'm mostly good at working around, over, and through people like you." Andra stares at the officer, silently challenging him to do something about her words.

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Far from being offended by the declined hand shake, Oliver backs off a small bit to give "Sir" some room. Some officers would have ordered him off his mount. Respect should be given to someone that does not spurn his own men with such slights. While waiting for his turn, he reaches into a small pocket to retrieve a small wooden disk.

During the next opening to speak, he flips the coin to "sir" before calmly telling him, "I am a Clan rider and your people call me a mage."

The small disk appears to be a broach. It features a horse's head carved into the wood, a small, red-tinted quartz is fitted for the eye. In small print, barely readable are the words, "May vengeance be quick, and may your brothers ride with you against the twilight."

Oliver pulls slightly on his reigns and leads Windsiege away from their commander. Rather than remain silent, he approaches the... angry woman. In a warm, calm tone, he speaks to her, "Those people that depend on you need you more than ever here. The empire is devious and tyrannical."

[Marillion]

Vachel

What sort of person doesn't wish to defend their country? And how DARE she speak like that to the Sergeant? Even a pretty woman shouldn't get away with that. Though, she could hardly be called ugly...The way her lovely brown hair accentuated her hazel eyes, the curve of her cheeks, her...

STOP ZHAT!

Face turning red for no apparent reason, Vachel stepped forward and saluted to cover it up, and in a somewhat accented voice, introduced himself. "My name iz Vaychel, zir. No last name, zir. I vas found by a priest of Heirvoneous, who, in his mercy, took me in and taught me to become a Sword of zhe Invincible...zir. I am vell versed in svordplay, trained in archery, and competent in mounted combat, and Heirvoneous has seen to grant zhis unvorthy vessel certain abilities to better devend our great land. If I may demonstrate, zir..." Vachel stepped forward a little more, turning to the side as he drew his longsword. Focusing on a tree a little over 10 yards away that had no structures or people around it, he murmured a swift prayer to Heironeous the Invincible, asking that his aim be true. His sword began to glow and crackle with divine electricity, and Vachel's arm trembled as he channeled energy from his god. Just before it seemed like his blade would explode, he slashed diagonally downwards.

For a split second, nothing happened save a cracking sound reminiscent of thunder in the distance as the sword split the air...Then holy lightning exploded from the void, rending through the air as it sought it's target. When it reached the tree, there was a loud explosion, a blinding flash of blue-white, and then silence. When they could see again, those closer to the tree saw that a hole the size of a goblin's head had been drilled through to the other side, and everyone could see the licks of fire outlining the gaping wound. Smoldering bark floated from the sky, providing a rather dramatic and beautiful backdrop as Vachel sheathed his sword. He turned to face the Sergeant again, and bowed. "I apologize zhat I am only permitted to do zhis tvice in a battle, but I zinzerely hope zhat I vill prove myzelf in zhis var to devend our land, and zo be blessed by Heirvoneous vonce more." Bowing again, Vachel quickly stepped back into line, hoping that such a meager display of Heironeous' power would be enough to show Sergeant that he was no liability.

And his nose still itched...


This is assuming that we're at 6th level, and that trees auto-fail reflex saves for half damage.

[Febreezium]

Thirsk continues around the groups, giving little to no reaction beyond a nod or a brief raising of the eyebrows. Only five people really stand out, but they do so like Celestials in a cave. He returns to the front of the group, having walked to get to the second tier, and stands for a moment, taking them in and letting them consider one another.

"Alright then, this is going to be difficult for some of you, easier for others. I'm going to split you into melee and support; Elfy and Grinner, you'll be my Eyes in support. Patches, Vicious and Padre, you're my Eyes in melee. The rest of you I'll organize like so..."

[OOC: I'm not going to name, stat and judge 15 NPCs, so we can assume I hand out assignments appropriately.]

"Alright, we have three days before we head out. Patches and Vicious, you're going to help me train the melee guys for the next couple of days. Padre, Elfy and Grinner, take a look at the support team; I'm thinking archery specifically, but 'the Monk' and his brothers over there showed some wizard or Psion promise too."

"I'll want to speak to all of my Eyes at some point tonight, but for now you're all dismissed."

With a nod, Thirsk separated the ten Melee group soldiers and took Patches and Vicious to help him whip them into shape. He nodded at Elfy, Padre and Grinner as they separated, planning to check on them in a couple of hours.

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

Veln nods and follows the sergeant, still a little stunned by the display of forces he just witnessed. Even those not throwing around bolts of lightning and crystal shards seemed like extremely capable warriors. Certainly a league above dagger-wielding thugs, better watch that Vachel guy, and that woman seems oddly familiar too...

The next hours Veln does his best to help train those assigned to him, even though he has no experience at all in doing so. He doesn't speak a lot and still seems to be elsewhere with his mind.

[Rhiannon87]

Andra glares at the young man on horseback. “I didn't ask for your opinion, kid,” she snaps. “And I don't think you know a damn thing about what my people need.” She glances around at the rest of the men in the group. Two of them are starting at her: the warrior of Heironeous, who looks away quickly and turns a bit red, and the man with the glaive, who seems to be studying her intently. She gives him a quick once-over, and frowns, turning her attention back to the sergeant. She more or less ignores his orders as she tries to remember where she knows the other man from. Someone she knew in Port Elektra, probably... just a question of how she knew him. Not likely to be someone that she helped, she usually remembered those people better. So someone on the other side of things, then, either a guard or a criminal. Veln. 'Veln Sa...' Hmm. She'd figure it out eventually.

For some reason, Thirsk wanted her on melee. Apparently his way of dealing with insubordination was ensuring she'd die in her first battle on the front lines. Lovely. "Not sure how you expect me to train the sword-fighters with a longbow, but I'll do my best," she said, voice dripping with sarcasm. Andra was aware that she wasn't exactly making the best impression on anyone else here, but she didn't really care at the moment. She was hoping that if she pushed back hard enough, she'd get discharged and sent home.

[Febreezium]

"Oh, you're a bowman? Why didn't you say so, recruit? Anyway, give them some tips on how to annoy another bowman in battle and then come across with me when I go to check on the Support group. And Vicious? You call me sir or you don't open your mouth."

[Rhiannon87]

Andra just raises her eyebrows. "Or what? Either you need soldiers badly enough that you'll put up with me, or I'm not worth the trouble. I don't have to call you a damn thing."

She glances at Veln, both judging his reaction to her mouthing off and trying to place him. Veln... She blinks as she realizes exactly who he is. Veln Sahar, favored son of the criminal lords House Sahar, the sole survivor of the massacre that wiped out his family. She'd dealt with Sahar scum before; rescuing hostages or breaking extortion rings. The guards had either been on the take or too cowardly to do anything about them, so as usual, it was up to her to clean up the mess. And now the last member of the House is strolling along beside her to combat practice. She decides not to say anything now. She's busy antagonizing the sergeant, for one, and Veln likely didn't want his identity advertised. She respects that... for now. Andra makes a mental note to have a private chat with him later on.

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Shaking his head slightly and saying nothing, Oliver leaves 'Vicious' to the commander. He almost looks back to see what would follow, but refocuses and heads to the support group. Aldessians can be so angry.

While approaching Ric'lail and Vaychel, he begins to wonder about the support group. The way Vicious called him "kid" seems to have stuck with him. Without his status in the clan, would the others just see him as some child barely able to throw a spear? Showing but the slightest sliver of doubt, he speaks to the other eyes with what seems like a practical question, "How often are your people's mages called to battle?"

[Marillion]

Vachel

Vachel scratched his nose. Never had a man known any greater relief. Finding a simple black ribbon that had been put on his mule, he tied his hair back into a simple ponytail, and then set to work.

"Longbows! To me!"

When they had gathered around, he led them to a training field full of dummies for use by archers, stopping about 250 feet away.

"Ven ze enemy is zis far away, and charging towards us, it is your responsibility to zhin ze herd, as it vere. You take ze arrow, like so, draw ze string, like so, point it up at a fourty five degree angle for maximum distance, like so, and release, like so." The arrow soared upwards through the air, then came back down, embedding itself into a target. "Now, as soon as you release ze first arrow, you must do zis again, like so." He quickly repeated the process, hitting another target. "Your goal here iz not to have ze pinpoint accuracy, and shoot ze fly in ze air and go through ze vizer directly into ze eye. Zat comez later. Now, you must focus on getting as many arrows into ze air as you can, because ze oddz are zat you vill hit somebody vether you try very hard or not. To zat end, I vant you to fire 10 arrows in 15 seconds in ze general direction of zose dummies az I showed you, beginning NOW!"

As Vachel watched the longbowmen struggle with his commands, eventually growing somewhat competent with the bow, he responded to Oliver. "Mages? Ve do not haf mages. Only ze Maltirian evil-vorshiping devils have mages. Vat ve DO haf iz people who have been granted powers by ze gods, such as you, and myzelf, and ve are called to battle venever evil threatens our lands.

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Oliver lets out a small sigh as Vaychel talks about the good and evil gods on either side of the war. Despite his loyalty to the cause, he doesn't quite see it as a divine struggle. "I do not doubt any of us wish to fight our enemy." Oliver pauses slightly for dramatic effect. "I just don't know if they've found the strength in their own to do so."

Dismounting, Oliver moves over to the rest of the support group. Despite the variety of magic here, most of which had been unknown to Oliver, they would all have to fight the Order. He had seen them in action, and the Crimson Order was shockingly similar to the Weirders in their magic. More overt and flashy, but still the same. It was time for some Weirder style training.

Despite his small size, Oliver has a commanding presence when he wants to. Not intimidating, but strong and calm all the same.

"I know you've all heard rumors of the Crimsons. I can tell you first-hand that they are not dark witches, not demons, but mere mortals. The real power they have is to strike fear into the hearts of the unprepared. We will fight each other for the next few days, so that we may learn each other's strengths and how to fight a mage."

Oliver pulls out his spear and plants it into the ground.

"Fight with all your skill but nothing lethal. Do this and I promise we will stain the grass with the color of our enemy!"

[Febreezium]

"You don't want to be here, do you, Vicious? Well, I can understand if you've been conscripted against your will or something...

"Actually, this goes for all of you who have maybe joined here out of less than noble circumstances; you may be unhappy, or even angry, but not listening to me or treating me with respect is the quickest way to get yourself killed. I don't expect you to like me, or to agree with what I say, but I do expect you to follow my orders. If you don't do so out in the field, then a Court Martial and the enemy will be the least of your worries."

Thirsk settles his gaze on Vicious, cool and unwavering. "I'd rather you deserted than stayed if you're going to have that attitude, Vicious. At least that way, you'll only be damning yourself. But really, is there so little for you back at home that you'll throw away your life and honour that way?" he whispers.

He looks away from her. "Come on you lot, this isn't a theatre. Double up and spar, I expect full commitment and no blood; if you hurt your opponent, you'll be carrying their stuff for them... Vicious, prepare a short lesson on avoiding being shot.." He walks off, leaving the two of them to their training.

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail Lureba'an, Gray Elfy Psion

Train the rest of these...? I don't know about those other two 'eyes' the sergeant pointed out, but as far as I know he himself is probably the only one I could teach anything at all. I've no idea how much of what any of these people know. This young human and his horse, though...such vigor or personality. Best to align myself with him and let him handle the masses, probably.

Ric'lail pauses beside Oliver as the boy sits astride his horse and directs the crowd. As the group begins to pair off, he looks up, admiring the rider's mount.

Not elven bloodstock, but the creature certainly looks strong. Deep chest, fine fetlocks. Prairie horse? Long endurance, and probably a decent turn of speed, too.

He reaches up hesitantly, stroking the side of the horse's face, leery of a sudden snap. It would have surprised him, to be sure; few animals, even trained warhorses, would attack an elf on their own without some provocation. Still, though...he'd read that some warhorses were as or more deadly that their riders, and he never would have dreamed of touching the animal without its rider sitting calmly atop it. He speaks to the boy after spending a moment considering his reaction to a stranger touching his mount.

"My...people...are not usually called to battle, friend mage. I am a gray elf, as you've no doubt noticed, and my kind does not simply march off to war. We only fight to defend our homes, or those of our close allies. I...am a different sort of mage, as you witnessed, and I am here because the government requested the aid of an organization I belong to against the Crimson Order."

He pauses again, unable to resist stroking the beautiful mount in front of him.

"Your animal is beautiful. Very different from the horses my people favor. Perhaps you are not from nearby? You speak of your clan, and you paint your face. That would make you...one of the prairie nomads, unless I miss my guess badly. You don't have the look of a wizard."

He pauses and smiles.

"Wizards are always...prissier. You speak with the force and vigor of someone whose power comes from within. I am a scholar, of many sorts of knowledge, and I believe I know...something of your power. Odd, for you of all people, to call the order...witches, to the sergeant. Though you seem to have moderated your tone at present."

He tilts his head slightly, for a moment, keeping his eyes neutral. After the moment passes he nods respectfully and allows a smile smile to linger on his face as he extends a hand up in the human fashion.

"I am called Ric'lail, as you heard. I have never trained or led others, before, but...it seems to me that perhaps allowing those of us with magi-psionic talents to spar against each other might be...disastrous. Let us go together and consult the rest of those here who are in possession of similar gifts. Surely we can learn something of what we have to work with if we both put ourselves to the task, and avoid killing each other besides, yes?"

[Rhiannon87]

Andra watches silently as the sergeant walks off. Was it honor to drag someone away from their life and their home and throw them into the army? Was it honor to demand they fall in line and work for a total stranger? Or was it more honorable to leave this all behind and go back to the people who actually needed you? There wasn't any honor in pretending like you wanted to be fighting on the front lines when you didn't. She knew all too well that simply being military didn't make you an honorable person, despite what so many of them seemed to think. You'd rather I deserted, then fine. First chance I get, I'm gone.

She mutters a curse under her breath, and silently vowed to escape the first chance she got. With a deep breath, she looked over the recruits. Most of them looked uncertain, a few were scared. She knew that most of the volunteers came from the lower classes, people looking to make some money and move up in life. Her people. Andra clears her throat, and turns to the recruits. "All right, guys, you're going to mostly be in melee, hand-to-hand stuff. You think all you have to worry about is the guy in front of you with the sword... but unfortunately, the guy with the sword has buddies with arrows. You've got to worry about them, too."

She takes a few of them aside at a time, walking them through the best ways to harass enemy bowmen, how to avoid them, where they'd likely set up ambushes, even how to remove arrows mid-battle. She keeps an eye on Veln, judging his combat abilities and wondering when it would be best to approach him with what she knew.

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Oliver leads his horse through the camp, ensuring that the recruits are either in the process of fighting or recovering from one. He stops when approached by Ric'lail, keeping Siegewind still as the elf admire it.

"You have a good eye. Siegewind here is of Boar River stock. Elves sometimes travel to purchase one for the exchange of other goods. Some do raise stronger, less agile horses in the borderland."

In a swift motion, he hands the reigns over to the elf.

"They are raised to not take well to take to indecisiveness."

Letting Ric'lail continue, contrasting Oliver with wizards and noticing Oliver's previous semantics.

"In my homelands, people that you call sorcerers are trained to perform life rituals like marriage and death. The Aldessians leave these things to the wise, but in the plains the charismatic are more desired. We have few scholars, but all of us are trained for hunting and war. 'Witch' can be used to many ends, but it is a spear with two points."

Oliver shakes his head for a moment before continuing.

"You may know of the battle that ended the fighting there. A company of clansmen charged the Order forces from the flank while the main Imperial force was occupied. With surprise and expert warriors, we took incredible casualties. The battle is considered a draw. We have little time to prepare, but you are correct. You understand your homeland more than I."

[blue chicken]

The young male's verbosity surprised Ric'lail somewhat, though he supposed that it really shouldn't have, especially after his own.

I really should try to talk less and listen more.

You think?

Shut up.

Ric'lail shook his head. He'd only heard a sketchy report of that battle, and it didn't sound like something he'd have wanted to be present for, even from Oliver's perspective.

"It's fortunate that you're still alive. The clan has been taking heavy casualties in all theaters, from what I know. Maybe we'll be able to do some good, here in a unit like this. But...I have never fought in a war before, with others. I have done some...errands...for my guild, but that seems entirely different, now that I am here. Perhaps you can keep me from making a fool of myself, or from finding the wrong end of an arrow."

The strange elf chuckles in a self-deprecating fashion that was totally atypical of gray elves. He gives the horse a last fond pat and hands the reigns back.

"I wish that I were light enough to ride along with you in combat, but sturdy as he is, I doubt your noble Siegewind could carry us both in comfort. Perhaps I'll buy a horse of my own. We shall see."

He looks up and finally spies "the Monk" that Thirsk had pointed out. He gestures toward the odd-looking man and his companions.

"Ah, there. Those the sergeant wanted us to see about. I will handle the psionicists, and you shall deal with the mages, yes? We will figure them out between us."

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

As the day continues Veln decides he's better off giving physical training than trying to teach the recruits swordplay. After he's sent off a couple of them to race around the perimeter he sits down away from the others to tie his boots again and drink some water.

[Rhiannon, take it away.]

[Rhiannon87]

"...and that is the best way to keep an ally from bleeding out if they're hit with an arrow. They'll be out of the fight, but they'll be alive longer than they might be without your help." Andra's demeanor has changed significantly over the past few hours of training. She's gone from surly and furious to generally helpful and friendly, working with the recruits and asking them about their lives back home while she trains them. Among people she considers equals, she seems much more relaxed.

Seeing Veln send his group off to run laps, she makes a quick decision. "Why don't you all join them?" she suggests, nodding at the runners. "We can work on disarming later." The recruits take off. She watches them go, then strolls towards Veln, her face carefully blank.

"Do you know me from someplace?" she asks casually, sitting down just out of Veln's reach. "Because I'm pretty sure I know you." Andra flashes him a tight smile, the kind of expression that people often adopt when they're about to share bad news.

[Marillion]

"Is good, is good." His squad was finally managing to fire off arrows as fast as he was, and some even showed natural talent for it. "However, no matter how many arrows you fire, some vill get through and charge you, and vhat then? Do you cut and run, or do you stand and fight?" One in the back line tentatively raised his hand. "Zhat vas a rhetorical question, put your hand down. You vill stand and fight, and catch zhem off guard. I vill teach you somezhing very important, somezhing you must only use if in mortal danger. I vill teach you how to kill a man up close, even a man vith armor." Vachel carefully affixed his helmet, and then invited one of his squad to punch him. The man declined, knowing he would break his hand on the steel. "Very good. You are smart. But you are also dead. If you do not fight back, how do you expect to win? Instead of hitting me, you must hold me, you and your comrades. Armor is VERY heavy, and with the weight of all of you holding me down, I vill be unable to fight back, leaving me helpless. It may not be honorable, but it is effective. Now, come at me!" With that, he started attacking his men with a stick.

Several bruises later, they'd finally managed to shove him to the ground, and indeed, he was helpless as a turtle on its back. One of them started to try to force off the helmet. "No no no, zhat takes too long! In zhe time it takes you to get zhat off, you vill be overrun! Help me up!" Once back on his feet, Vachel instructed them on the best ways to kill. "Zhe best vay to kill a knight up close is surprisingly vith a dagger. Zhe veak points in zhe armor are at zhe joints. Here, under zhe arms, you may pierce zhe heart. Here, in zhe groin, you may cut zhe femoral artery. Here, from above zhe gorget, you may open zhe jugular. And through zhe visor, you may go into hiz brain. If you vish only to cripple your enemy, you may also strike at zhe elbows and zhe back of zhe knees, but to do so is very risky. As well, if you strike his helmet with zhe hilt of your weapon, you may daze him and force him off balance, like so." Vachel demonstrated by whacking the stick against his head harder than was strictly necessary. He immediately regretted doing that. He managed to shake it off, though if they could see his eyes, they'd notice he was now slightly cross-eyed. "Now! Defend yourself!"

In this manner, they continued training, stopping only for archery practice, water, and more archery practice.

[MCerberus]

Oliver

"Yes, we shall handle what we know best."

Splitting up from the elf, Oliver plucks his spear out of the ground and immediately finds another soldier willing to fight. This ends after a counterspell and a swift spear shaft to the upper arm. Oliver begins instructing the mages about traditional Clan combat values: press every advantage, be able to take a punch, and punish over-reliance on one tactic.

Countering what he sees as the cold-iron fisted demeanor of the sergeant, he goes among the casters, providing words of advice and encouraging them to go a little... unhinged in their combat. Of course, a magic missile to the face during a spar goes a long way to silence those that question his methods.

Eventually, between expending magic, bruises, and the driving rain, the group tires. Mounting back on Windsiege, Oliver goes to find Vaychel. Upon arriving, he can't help but give out a chuckle. It appears that the troops have accidentally shot a smile onto a target. Quickly recomposing himself, he asks the Paladin,

"How far can they shoot a wolf?" Realizing that the expression may not mean anything to him, Oliver continues before Vaychel can respond. "It's getting late. The sergeant will want to know how the evening went."

[Marillion]

Vachel

"Hmm? Ah yes, zhe small one!" Most people were short compared to Vachel, but he positively towered over Oliver. Likewise, most people might take offense at being called 'the small one', but one could tell in his eyes that Vachel meant it in good humour, if not in a joke. "Our night vent.... Joffrey! I know you know zhe arrow points zhe other vay! Zat is a very good vay to hurt yourself! Ugh, vat a clown. None of zem vill be snipers, if zat is vat you asked, but zey vill be able to hurt zhe enemy. In a few more hours, zey may even be able to hit a single target at one hundred paces." He sighed, realizing how much work was still left to do.

"Oliver, vas it? I apologize if I am a little forward, but...may I ask about your face?"

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Shaking his head once more at the "display" given by the archers, Oliver shows no acknowledgment of the height remark.

"It's war-paint. During a child's first hunt they create their own paint design. I haven't been able to wash it off since the last run-in with some scouts. If you ever see a clansman with yellow paint, it means that they use seers' rose in the dye. It's usually good to not be near someone using that."

With not much else to say on the subject and little happening, Oliver asks a question of his own.

"You said you where proficient in mounted combat. Would you happen to be a spearman or an archer?"

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail Lureba'an, Gray Elf Psion

And you thought I was hard to deal with...

Mmmm. Yes. But then, you're just another part of me, and I've been dealing with me since...it's been a long time, now. It seems like most of those psionicists hardly even knew what they were doing, let alone how to do it properly. I just hope that Thirsk isn't so incompetent. Perhaps they promote the good ones, eh?

Let's hope so. Don't make any assumptions. You always do that, and then you fall into a routine. Stay on your toes, especially until we learn more about what to expect.

Ric'lail nods to himself as he strides away from the tired group of would-be psions, ardents, and divine minds still standing in a cluster around the dummies they'd been practicing on. He catches the crystal out of the air and fits it back into its ornament with a practiced touch, blinking water out of his eyes as it returns to its resting place with a quiet snick.

Eh? Water...? Oh, yes, the rain.

He pulls his hood up, unpleasantly surprised to find even its thickly-lined inside sodden and uncomfortable. He pushes it back with a sigh. He was wet already anyway.

I've got to learn to pay more attention to what's going on. This camp, the battlefield...nothing like the library.

Indeed.

The sun is beginning to set by the time Ric'lail makes his way back to the central area of the encampment. He spies Oliver standing by the large armored warrior who'd ruined the tree from earlier and approaches, a hand massaging the back of his neck tiredly, eyes somewhat wide.

"Greetings. That...was an interesting experience. I sincerely hope that at least one of you had more luck than I."

[Marillion]

Vachel

"Erm..I must confess, vhen I said I vas competent in mounted combat, I meant zat zhe Maestyr allowed me to ride his horse into market, and I vould hold a stick and pretend zat zhe trees vere enemy soldiers. Our temple had only zhe one horse, and it vas rather old." Vachel looked down and scratched his neck, obviously embarrassed. "I, er, suppose zat I got carried away earlier." He looked back up, considering his students. "Still, zat is more experience zan many of zese conscripts have. Many of zem vere too poor to even look upon a horse. I'm sure I could fight from horseback, though, if I had to." he said in an effort to save face.

Noticing the elf walking up, Vachel quickly changed the subject. "Hello! Ve vere just talking about zat. Mine have become...useful, but zhey still have some practice to go before zey are to be feared by anyone besides each other. I take it yours did not go so vell?"

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail Lureba'an, Gray Elf Psion

Quite an accent! Where have we heard that before...? Somewhere...hmm.

Ric'lail managed a smile. The large man's enthusiasm was a refreshing contrast to the bitterness and resentment that some here had already chosen to display. When he spoke, the quiet tones of his cultured voice sounded even more refined than normal, and out of place in the chaotic encampment.

"Oh...I wouldn't say it went badly. If no one burns out their own ability or puts a shard of ectoplasm through someone else's face, then things have not gone badly. As you said, though...it will be some time before they're a terrifying cadre of psionic warriors. You're...just Vachel, was it not?"

He smiled again, pleased with himself for remembering the man's name. Songs, legends, historical dates, ancient lore...all easy enough to file away and recall at need. Human names, though, were so much harder. They rarely suited their owners and often had no logic at all behind them.

"A paladin, then. Fascinating. I've...never associated with clergy, before, even the fighting variety."

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

As Andra comes up to him Veln is just putting his waterskin away, when he hears her stepping through the mud he looks up, surprised. "Sorry, I was ju... oh it's you." Who is she again, I'm sure I know her...

As she begins talking Veln becomes wary, and when that smile appears on her face his eyes suddenly widen and his hand flies towards the small blade that rests by his side. "You! What do you want, this isn't the place for petty grudges, if you start a fight here the whole camp will be on you in seconds." He watches her every move while also checking if there are other people nearby.

OOC:
Rhiannon, you decide, do we continue via IC spoilers, OOC spoilers or PM? (So Rebel can continue the story, see also OOC thread.)

[Rhiannon87]

OOC:
Let's just go with spoilering it in the OOC thread after this. I never remember to check my PMs. >.<

"Relax, Veln," Andra says. "I'm not going to start a fight. If I wanted to take you down, I wouldn't have warned you."

She looks around the campground, expression thoughtful. "I heard what happened to your family... I'd offer my sympathies, if I had any, but to be honest Port Elektra is better off without scum like your late father there to extort and kidnap and kill people." She glances back over at Veln. "What I'm really trying to figure out is what you're doing here."

[mr. Tentacles]

OOC:
Fine by me, we'll continue there once Rebel has posted here again to move the story up.

Veln

Veln leaves the blade lying beside him, but his hand still rests on the hilt, his expression quickly turns from shocked surprise to anger at the mention of his father. "What do you think I'm doing here wench, I'm not going to stay there and get myself killed. If anything you should be glad you got out of there, I figure the Merniks are going nuts right now, without us to worry about." A wicked smile appears on Veln's face.

[Rhiannon87]

Andra's jaw tightens. "Their activity is exactly why I should be back there," she snaps. "At least when there were two Houses they were able to expend some energy on killing each other and the innocent people got a break."

She sizes Veln up rather obviously, then tilts her head to the side. "So what are we going to do about this?" she asks. "I imagine from your... reluctance... to provide your full name you'd rather keep this quiet." She smiles again, the implication of blackmail all too clear.

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

Veln grunts. "Just tell me what you want woman, though I can't imagine what I could do for you out here. And do it quickly, some of us actually want to make this thing work." Veln looks around again, obviously a bit nervous that someone might overhear them.

[Rhiannon87]

Andra shrugs. "Well, if you know any way to get me out of here, I'd suggest doing that," she says. "But I rather doubt you can do that. I don't quite know what I want from you, yet. But just keep this in mind, if I ask you for anything. I'm certain there's plenty of people here who've suffered at your family's hands, and I'm just as certain they'd like to get revenge however they can."

Threat placed, Andra gets to her feet. "Want to run some mock combat with the recruits later? I can fire blunted arrows at them, get them used to having painful things rain down on them while they're getting stabbed." She adjusts the longbow on her back slightly as she speaks, then eyes Veln calmly, waiting for his response.

[RebelRogue]

You wake up hungry, as usual. It is yet another cold morning with the promise of yet another day of war. During the last five years you’ve seen and done things that you’d rather forget. You’ve all lost dear friends and comrades to the Maltirian forces, but you’re also stronger and more experienced by the battles with footsoldiers and mages alike, if a bit desensitized. You’ve gotten to know each other better than most people ever get to know their spouse or siblings, and you’ve gained quite a reputation as a specialized strike team.

The tides of war have slowly shifted during the last half year or so: you've noticed the numbers of Crimson Order members faced diminish, although they've never been commonplace. But the war hardly seems won just yet.

As you eat the improvised bits of gruel that constitutes breakfast, a small, familiar figure slips out of the shadows of the nearby bushes and hails you. Praise Aldessar!, the gnome exclaims eagerly. Have I got some news for you!. You all know Wrenn as a trusted messenger and scout, who've often brought you orders and intelligence from those higher in the military chain of command. Sneaky little fellow, too. After a few formalities, he enters the camp and hands a sealed scrollcase to Thirsk with a smile on his face.

The scrollcase bears all the signs and seals that prove it to be authentic orders from a higher ranking Aldessian officer.

@Febreezium: The scroll within the case contains the following message:


Three days ago a truce was signed between Aldessar and Maltiri. In effect, the war is over. You may pack up your gear and return to your home city of Port Elektra for debriefing.

[Febreezium]

"Really? Interesting. Can I have a word with you after I've informed the troops?"

After getting his answer [OOC: Just moving the plot along rather than waiting for a reply, RebelRogue], Thirsk moves around the camp yelling "Gather up, you lot. I want everyone suited and booted in five. Move, move move."

When everyone is present, Thirsk takes them all in. With a small, almost imperceptible sigh, he starts talking.

"Soldiers, that's what you all are. Maybe you weren't when we first met, but over these last five years you certainly have become them. Fierce, powerful and commanded by a ruggedly handsome Sergeant Major; we sure gained a hell of a reputation.

"Which is why it's almost cruel that this news has come through; we've only gone and bloody won the war!

"Now, now, before you all cheer, celebrate and jump around in the most proper and sensible sort of celebrations, I just want you to all know that you've been a great cadre. All of you." His gaze lingers on Andra for a second. "So, as my last order as your Sergeant before we all go home, I order you all to be really proud of yourselves. Anyway, you can go wild now, if you want." He gives everyone a grin, and shakes hands with Kelv "The Monk" Bond when he moves toward him.

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

Veln stands guard at the edge of the camp when Wrenn arrives, as usual he only spots the gnome when he actually reveals himself, and after asking for the passphrase he lets him pass. A minute later, after making sure nobody else is around Veln follows, eager to hear what the news is about.

When Thirsk is done informing them about the message Veln is in shock. "Thirsk, give me that." He reads the scroll himself and looks around to the others. "That, that can't be true, right? I mean, sure, the tables have been turning, but it can't just be over. They can't just send us home." Veln throws his glaive away and curses loudly before he walks to his tent.

Five years ago:
Veln laughs mockingly and stands up. "I don't think that's the best idea right now, too much of a chance I'll hurt you." Then he picks up his equipment and walks back to his recruits.

[Thought I'd just do it here, since it's only one post anyway.]

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Oliver at first does not notice the commotion caused by Wrenn's arrival. This morning, like every morning the past week, he had been enchanting the armor scavenged from an imperial captain. In a state nearly blinded to the outside world, he crushes an emerald. The fragments glow eerily before the light spreads throughout the breastplate. It was finally done.

Aware now of the commotion, he calls out to Thres, and the bird lands on his shoulder still carrying its meal (a fieldmouse) in its beak. At first he didn't believe the news, the Maltiri, giving up?

Allowing the commotion to die down, Oliver approaches Malcolm. "Well, sir, it looks like we've failed. What will command think when it turns out we spent the entire war fighting and didn't complete the suicide mission."

Something about Oliver seems wrong today. Despite appearance he is apprehensive about something. Thres drops its meal when Oliver mounts. In barely audible screeches and chirps, the bird puts the feeling in words, "There is no home."

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail Lureba'an, Gray Elf Psion

Ric'lail's large eyes widen when he hears the news, as they always do when he is genuinely surprised.

It's over? No more fighting? But...we never eliminated the Order's leadership.

Don't COMPLAIN! We certainly killed enough of them, and lost enough of our own doing it. And we've learned so much. We'll take years, getting all of this recorded and analyzed.

Ric'lail's faint, private grin resurfaces.

Yes. The Triad...the Lodge will need to know everything. But first thing's first.

He rises from where he'd been jotting notes into his journal and gathers Celaer's reigns from where he'd tied them loosely nearby. The large horse shook his head and snorted, making his tack and fine barding jingle faintly.

"Easy, friend. There'll be no charges or arrows to concern yourself with today. Or any day in the near future, it seems. You can relax. Come, let's go break down the tent."

The animal snorts again, but follows. As Ric'lail approaches the tent that had been his shared living space for the last half-decade, he observes Veln storm past, throwing away the weapon he was rarely without and disappearing into the neighboring tent.

Hmmmm...

...mmmm.

The elf stooped to recover the weapon, shaking the worst of the muck from the wicked blade and turning to Celaer.

"Wait here. I won't be long."

The horse wouldn't wander off. Oliver had trained him well, and his first owner had been no slouch either. The horse didn't show Ric'lail anywhere near the level of affection or respect he seemed to display for the young sorcerer, but he also had too much sense to disregard a direct command when the elf was still within shouting distance.

Veln's behavior was puzzling. The fighting was over; what could be better than returning home to rest? Transferring the heavy glaive to his dominant hand, the gray elf scratched at the tent flap with his left, the military equivalent of knocking politely.

"Ah...Veln? I...recovered your weapon. Is...are you well?"

[RebelRogue]

Wrenn looks up at Thirsk, still grinning. Sure, but you better make it quick, there's plenty more people that need to hear the good news. He points down into the backpack from which he drew the scrollcase. There's about a dozen more, similarly sealed cases in there.

[Febreezium]

Thirsk breaks from the crowd, noting Veln's reaction, to walk Wrenn out of the camp. "Tell me, what do you make of this sudden peace? Did those fools at Maltiri really surrender when they still had so many forces?"

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

Veln opens the tent and steps outside, behind him you can see his half-packed backpack. He takes his glaive from Ric'lail and gently lays it down. "Thanks Ric, but no, I'm not fine. I mean, how can they just tell me to go back all of a sudden, I've got nothing to go back to. Hells, I've got a bunch of people who killed my family to go back to, that's even worse. I mean, Vachel has his temple, you have your family, and I'm not even starting about Andra. It hasn't always been the best of places, but this war is everything I've got, you guys are everything I've got, and now they're just telling me it's over? A truce? For all I know we were winning. It's... it's just not fair."

OOC:
Didn't forget Oliver and Thirsk, Veln is just being selfish.

[RebelRogue]

Wrenn puts on a more serious face. I agree it's a bit fishy. As far as I know, Aldessarian diplomats have been trying to halt the conflict for a long time. But appearantly, they've only been getting real response from the Maltirians in the last half year or so, where true, two-sided negotiations have suddenly become a reality. I'm guessing it has something to do with the politics of Malisis. Some internal conflict within the empire, perhaps? The gnome shrugs. I don't know much about what intrigues take place in that hellhole of a city, and frankly I don't want to.

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail Lureba'an, Gray Elf Psion

Ric'lail is silent for a moment as he digests this information.

He...doesn't want to leave. This is all he has left. I never realized he was so alone. That is difficult to imagine.

Isn't it, though? He's saved your hide more times than either of us can count. You can't just leave him to his demons.

The elf nodded in agreement with his inner voice. His companions were used to his strange, distant mannerisms, and those who'd bothered to ask about it even knew the reason. His eyes re-focused on his warrior friend, large and liquid and filled with new empathy.

"Veln. I...didn't know. I apologize for intruding. You have done your part, though, even if we didn't technically win. I was as surprised by this announcement as you were. Don't lose heart, though. Port Elektra is a big place, but it's not as though you'll be alone. In fact..."

He pauses, his slim tongue licking his lower lip nervously.

"Until...you can find a, a job, a new place to stay...you're more than welcome at my estates. Or at my guildhouse. I am allowed guests there, too, especially with the knowledge I'm bringing back. I would be honored if you would accept my invitation and stay as a guest of House Lureba'an."

There, now. That wasn't so hard, was it?

No. You were right. For a change.

Hmph.

[Febreezium]

"You know, you get an order and you don't think to question it; I've been fighting for my country for most of my life now. I don't know what I'm going to do with myself now. But I'll tell you what, it's been a pleasure to work with you, Wrenn. You take care of yourself."

Thirsk throws the gnome a salute.

[Febreezium]

Oliver

Oliver at first does not notice the commotion caused by Wrenn's arrival. This morning, like every morning the past week, he had been enchanting the armor scavenged from an imperial captain. In a state nearly blinded to the outside world, he crushes an emerald. The fragments glow eerily before the light spreads throughout the breastplate. It was finally done.

Aware now of the commotion, he calls out to Thres, and the bird lands on his shoulder still carrying its meal (a fieldmouse) in its beak. At first he didn't believe the news, the Maltiri, giving up?

Allowing the commotion to die down, Oliver approaches Malcolm. "Well, sir, it looks like we've failed. What will command think when it turns out we spent the entire war fighting and didn't complete the suicide mission."

Something about Oliver seems wrong today. Despite appearance he is apprehensive about something. Thres drops its meal when Oliver mounts. In barely audible screeches and chirps, the bird puts the feeling in words, "There is no home."

Before he goes off to speak to Wrenn, Thirsk gives Oliver a weird look. "I... You... Oliver, sometimes you know exactly what to say."

Troubled, he turns away from the crowd and goes over to the waiting Wrenn.

[OOC: There, we're all nice and stitched up now!]

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

"I... I... Yes. Yes, I would like that. Thanks Ric." With that Veln gives Ric'lail a big bear hug, seemingly doing his very best to crush the elf's bones. After a few seconds he lets go. "I guess I'd best pack up before the others decide to break out the booze. Thanks again, you're a real friend."

[RebelRogue]

Wrenn salutes you back. You too, sir! You too! With those words, he buckles up his backpack, puts it back on and walks to the bushes from where he came. He waves a quick goodbye to all of you, before wrapping himself in his cloak, and a few moments later, he's disappeared from your view as swiftly as he came.

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Stunned for a moment in thought, Oliver sits on his horse for a bit. Not knowing what to truly make of the situation, he allows his mind to wander into blankness. After a bit, he snaps out of it and returns to Malcolm.

"If it seems that way, it is because other have inspired me to speak. You have the will of any of the greatest clan champions in history. We have suffered long together. I would be honored to call you brother."

By now just a little choked up he motions towards the brooch that clasps his close, the insignia that was on the token so many years ago.

"Any other clansman would be honored to do the same."

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

Veln quickly packs his gear and makes sure he's ready to move out, then he returns to the others. "Sorry about that guys, everything is fine. Thirsk, what're we going to do now? 'Cause I was thinking, we could just break camp and start moving, but I might have a bottle of something lying around," he gives the sergeant a guilty grin, "and some of us are probably in the mood to celebrate."

OOC:
Originally editted this into my previous post, but you guys are way too fast :smalltongue:

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail Lureba'an, Gray Elf Psion

Ric'lail returns to the ground with a surprised grunt.

"Yes, yes, of course. It's the least I can do. I...had better break down my tent as well. I will see you on the road."

He turns to go but pauses halfway, calling back over his shoulder into the tent where Veln was already busily rustling.

"Ah...Veln? If they do break out...the booze...do use your judgment, yes? You might be able to pick me up with your arms like I don't weigh a thing, but if you fall off a horse or wagon I'll have no choice but to hoist you back up with my abilities, and I know how you hate that."

Back outside, Celaer is roughly where he'd been left, though his position has shifted suspiciously. He's in the middle of taking another subtle step away from the tent when Ric'lail reappears. The horse freezes, large eyes fixed on the elf. Ric'lail glares back for a moment, muttering in elvish before heading into his own tent.

Stubborn creature. Windsiege was so much easier to handle.

[Rhiannon87]

Andra stays removed from the others as they celebrate. She's stayed distant from them ever since her second capture, two years ago. Whatever friendship she'd had with Vachel ended when he dragged her back, and Veln... well, that wasn't quite a friendship. She'd never really gotten that close with the others. Sad, really.

She didn't miss Thirsk's careful note of her during his speech. Still wanting her to feel valued, still wanting her to have some honor. If there was one thing war had taught her, it was simply that honor was meaningless.

"We're heading home, Jasper," she says to the dog laying at her feet. The shaggy, brown and black dog just pants at her. She reaches down and scratches his head. "We're going home."

She turns to head for her tent, planning to pack up while the others celebrate. Jasper gets to his feet and trots after her. Andra rubs at her arm as she walks, fingers sliding over the brand on her skin. They'll all go home with glory and praise. She'll be kicked out, with none of that precious "honor" they all seem to hold so dear. Ordinarily she wouldn't care, but honor often carries a pension with it, and getting back on her feet once she's in Port Elektra might be hard.

[Marillion]

Vachel

"Praise to Heirvoneous, I may finally leave." He scratches the neck of his mule, older and grayer but surprisingly unharmed. "You hear zhat, Jhames? Ve may finally go home." James the mule brays loudly, then steps on Vachel's foot and wanders off looking for an apple or sugar cube from a friendly hand. Torn between laughter and crying in agony, Vachel calls out "Meet me at zhe tent in half an hour!" James brays again, in a way that seemed to say "I'll think about it." Vachel sighs, and mutters to himself "I pray zhat I never have children."

He looks around at his friends, comrades-in-arms all, and though he'd saved and been saved by them all on several occasions, he felt...empty. He was relieved that the war was over, that his comrades had survived, that he no longer had to be a part of this, but beyond that, nothing. He wanted nothing more than to retire to the temple, to be left in peace for the rest of his life. Well, that and...

He glances sidelong at Andra, noting in particular her reaction. He considers walking over to her and striking up a conversation. It was what would be expected of him; to be cheerful, or pretend to be, at least, for everyone else's sake. He is a paladin; If they'd known his morale was broken, how could THEY have fought on?

Vachel takes a step towards her, hollow words forming on his tongue, before he sees the scorched flesh on her arm and freezes. Years later, and it still hadn't healed...And it never would. All because of his failure. What could he say to that?

Nothing, apparently; his indecision has let her slip away, just as his indecision years earlier had let her be caught.

Without a word, he turns around and walks back to his tent to begin packing.

[Febreezium]

As Thirsk returns to camp, he's greeted by Oliver and is give all that praise. "Oliver, we're all brothers here. All I've done is my job, my friend, but thank you for the praise. It means a lot to me."

When Veln and Ric'lail approach and discuss drinking, Thirsk grins. "Come now, Ric'lail; if you're going to have to tether anyone to their horse, it's going to be me. Veln, I think we'll all look away for a minute while you happen upon some cached drink. For some of us," he gestures towards the other troops, noticing Vachel and Andra's absence and wondering if they were 'celebrating' too, "don't live in Port Elektra and this will be our last night together. A good drink is the least we can do to say goodbye. Packing is for the morning, right?"

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

Veln's grin widens as he heads off with a "Yessir!"

A few minutes later he returns with some bottles he has looted and carefully stored over the years. While he passes Andra he nods to her. "Guess you made it out after all, eh? Come, let's have a drink, you too Vachel!" Veln seems oblivious of any tensions or bitter feelings, for the moment at least. He carefully lays down his 'treasure' in the center of the camp and turns to the others. "Grab whatever you like, it's on me." He pours something strong in three mugs and hands two over to Thirsk and Ric'lail. "C'mon Sarge, a toast."

[Rhiannon87]

"Five years too late, Veln," Andra replies ruefully. She glances at the bottles he's carrying as he goes by. Oh, what the hell. With a sigh, she turns from her tent and heads towards the center of camp. Jasper bounds ahead to investigate the bottles; after a few seconds of dedicated sniffing, he shakes his head and trots back to Andra, looking displeased. Apparently he disapproved.

She quickly rolls down her sleeves, covering up the brand, and pours herself a mug, waiting to see what toast Thirsk proposes. Probably something to do with honor. Or victory. The end of the war certainly didn't feel like a victory; it didn't even seem real, at this point. Maybe once she was back home.

[Febreezium]

"To the Maltirians, for having enough sense to just bloody give up." Thisk raises the bottle to his lips and drinks deeply, despite his low tolerance for the stuff; perhaps because of it.

[Marillion]

Vachel

"Oh no, no, I couldn't." He laughs in gentle denial. "Seriously, though. I can't. Zhis thing in zhe oath..." Vachel sighs. "Though, zhere's nothing in zhe oath zhat prevents me from watching you get drunk!" He chuckles, then takes a post leaning against a tree near the center of camp, pointedly ignoring Andra.

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

"You're no fun at all Vachel, no fun at all." Veln chuckles and turns to Thirsk to listen, then he raises his mug and downs whatever was in it in one draught before filling it again.

OOC:
I'm ready to move on, playing through the whole day could actually be fun with this group, but since Veln will spend half of it unconscious (even with his fortitude save) I think I'll pass. I guess we'll move out the next morning?

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Usually cheerful and often drunk at the victory parties, Oliver is different today. While the others celebrate, he's more cold and distant than he usually is. Eerily somber, especially to the people that know him best, he goes over to where Vaychel is (not) partying.

"I'm going out for a ride. I'll be back before we break camp to march back. Could you tell Ric' that the armor is done?"

[Marillion]

Vachel

"Yez, of course, az soon az I see him." Noticing Oliver's attitude, Vachel lays a hand on his shoulder. "Iz...everything alright?"

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Without much hesitation, Oliver turns Starwill towards the empty field and begins traveling away from the party.

"Some things yes, other's no."

[RebelRogue]

The next morning some of you wake up with some serious hangovers. Wherever Veln got hold of that stuff it surely did its job well! After spending some time dealing with those and packing up, you all head south.

After about a week of travelling through the battleplagued borderlands, you're finally back on truely Aldessian soil. On your way, you've met up with a few more bands of soldiers. Some you've worked with before, others not. Like yourselves, they have mixed feelings about the whole truce thing, but most look forward to get home none the less. A few days later, you spot Port Elektra in the distance. The improvised war camp you trained in back then has now turned into a small town of its own. As you approach, you see plenty of activity; quite a few soldiers are here, returning their weapons, armor and military gear, being debriefed and taking down tents. You line up, and after some hours of waiting, filling out formulas, and being interrogated, you're technically free men and women again, except for one final order: you're all supposed to show up the next day at Gideon Square in the center of Port Elektra where honours will be given and the public will praise you for your heroic deeds and sacrifices for the kingdom.

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail

During the celebration-

Ric'lail sniffs the dubious-smelling brew in his dubiously-cleaned mug, reservations clearly painted on his sharp-featured face.

By my House, what IS this? Did he MAKE this under his SADDLE? I...oh, for the love of...

Suppressing his grimace, Ric'lail tosses off a good third of the liquor in his mug and manages not to gag. Barely.

Even worse than it looked, eh? Veln never really has seemed to appreciate the fact that the elf with psionic abilities might not get quite as excited about fuzzing his brain with alcohol as a run-of-the-mill pikeman...

Oh, come off it. He means well. Speaking of Veln, though...

At the next opportunity he gets, Ric'lail tips the contents of his vessel into Veln's mug as subtly as he can manage.

Ah, not bad, elf! The rate Thirsk is going, though, looks like we WILL be busy hauling people out of the ditches tomorrow. Whims of war, eh? Always plenty of work for a Psion...


After the debriefing-

What an ordeal.

Practically worse than the fighting.

Worse than the fighting? All that paperwork and not a scrap of academic merit...that WAS fighting. And I can't even imagine how Oliver feels. This city, all this rigmarole...

The elf nudges Celaer up next to Starwill and lowers the hood of his cloak to expose his face. The garment is black velvet, worked with silver scrollwork around the collar and wrists, and emblazoned modestly on the left breast with the star and stag of House Lureba'an. It's clean but wrinkled; after spending the entirety of the war in Ric'lail's backpack, even the relatively modest luxury of his house colors looks and feels out of place. A moment of silence passes as he soaks in the odd feeling of being back in Port Elektra. After a moment he turns his neck to consider Oliver.

Another expatriate. A man without a nation. I never thought that war would leave so...so many...

...orphans.
...orphans.

The thought is unsettling. He sighs inwardly and once again resigns himself to speaking his mind. Oliver's quiet behavior over the past week has troubled the elf. When he begins, a note of caution infuses his voice. He is clearly unsure where the young sorcerer's boundaries are and is doing his best to avoid stepping on the weirder's emotional toes, wherever they may currently lie.

"Oliver, friend. I don't believe I've properly thanked you for your work, yet."

On close inspection, Ric'lail's cloak is stretched ever so slightly in the chest, draped across the thinly-tapered lines of a breastplate worn beneath it.

"I've always been fascinated by what the two of us can accomplish when we work with each other."

A pause.

"I have enjoyed working with you, Oliver. Insofar as it is possible to enjoy fighting a war, of course. I...do hope you'll be staying nearby, at least for a while? I realize that our...approaches...sometimes diverge, but I think of you as a friend. If you need a place to stay, you are as welcome as Veln at my hearth. I...hope you know that."

He wets his lower lip with his tongue; a nervous habit that has become more pronounced during the five stressful years of the conflict, and one that all of his companions have come to recognize. He clears his throat quietly and turns to Veln.

"*ahem* Yes, well then. If we're required to appear tomorrow, then I propose we bunk...or...ah, sleep, rather, at my estate, at least for tonight. I realize that a manor might not be as comfortable for you, Veln, but my guildhouse...the Lodge will no doubt keep me for far longer than an evening once I actually return. My family, on the other hand, can be handled."

He turns to address the broader group sidelong, eyes doing a double-take as they skip across Andra's dour expression before chattering back for a second nervous look.

What DOES go on behind those eyes of hers? I wish I'd come to know her better. Such bitterness, and so much passion. So much humanity.

"My invitation extends to all of you, of course, especially for tonight. The hospitality of House Lureba'an is there for any who accept it. If not, visit at any time; I would gladly receive any of you as my guest. I owe all of you a great many debts. I will be available, should any of you ever need any of my services."

He shakes his head slightly, and his thin braid swings a counterpoint. The gesture is reminiscent of a dog shaking its snout after inhaling a particularly strong scent. Even after five years, the decidedly human fashion of open conversation is a struggle for Ric'lail. He looks to Veln and quirks an eyebrow.

"Whenever you like, of course. We have been gone for five years; there is no particular hurry now."

[MCerberus]

Oliver

The last few hours have been at the same time the most intense and boring of the war. The rush to get through the line and the interrogations that followed were countered by the almost palpable feeling that there was nothing afterwards. Thres at one point swooped down to the ground and picked up a small stone sprayed with faded red. The very same spot he was waiting on was once the sight of when Ric'lail took the concept of not fighting predictably to heart. Olivers nose hurt slightly just thinking of it.

There were precious few clansman in the camp, hopefully just hidden by the sea of Aldesians. They all seem to be headed to the refugee towns. Some want to start a family, others are trying to get jobs in the peace-time military to tide them over. None said they wanted to stay in this nation. Good.

As Ric'lail speaks to him, Oliver him attention with his ears but continues to scan the soldiers. He's not trying to be rude, it just happens to be one of the odd habits learned while scouting.

"Enchanting has developed as one of my gifts. No thanks are necessary. It was you that kept all the magic gear fixed, so yes it turns out we've been something of a team."

Listening to the rest of Ric'lail's speaking, nodding along.

"I thank you for the offer, and I know I still owe you and your lodge a few questions asked. I would offer you the hospitality of the plains, if I could."

Oliver lets out a sigh before continuing.

"I haven't been myself since we found out about the treaty. I've decided since then, my war isn't over. The family heads are almost all dead, my people long to return home. For a while I will be traveling between the city and the camps keeping a high profile so I can be found. Once we leave you know where we will go. If you are ever on the planes, there is much you can learn about magic there."

Out of nowhere really a thought creeps into Oliver's mind. His usual warm grin returns.

"I wonder what the things we keep so close would say to each other if they could. I imagine it would be a good time to gossip behind our backs."

[Rhiannon87]

She isn't quite sure how word about her gets around so fast, but by the time she's halfway through the damned paperwork-- if the authorities aren't painfully incompetent, they're overly thorough-- there's a noticeable empty space around her. Few people speak to her directly, except to give directions or answer questions, but a cloud of whispers follows her. Jasper slinks along behind her; he'd gotten used to the small group in their squad, and the sheer number of people here seems a bit overwhelming for the dog.

The officer who debriefs her informs her that her case is "pending"; Andra wonders absently if Thirsk tried to put in a good word for her. It's possible. He always seemed to feel bad about what had happened to her.

Once she's done with the procedural things, she wanders through the crowd, instinctively searching for a familiar face. Talking to someone who knows her seems like a good idea right about now. Jasper finds the pair of men on their mounts first, sniffing along the ground until he comes up behind them. He gleefully bounds around between the horses's legs until Andra whistles at him. She walks up beside the elf and the clansman, nodding up at them. "Bureaucracy at its finest," she comments dryly. "I hope the paperwork didn't drain your will to live as much as it did mine?" She grins, the acidic humor in her voice familiar to her comrades by now.

[Febreezium]

Thirsk was in a foul mood as the debriefing went ahead, as his military career wound down. All he knew, everything he was as a man... no, as a person... was gone now. And here was a clerk, ranked a captain for simply pushing paper and making numbers dance, taking the details of his assignments and their conquests.

His mood isn't improved when he's asked to explain the circumstances of every death so the correct medals can be given to the deceased's family. He tells the truth, perhaps embellishing it a little in the case of those who died early on, their ears still wet combat-wise, and is then asked about Andra, Veln and Oliver in detail.

Again, he tells the truth, giving his honest opinion on the three of them, praising them thoroughly. He notes with interest that the clerk/captain barely notes anything against Andra's case; he's already said most of this before, to try and prevent the death penalty.

The clerk then asks for his shield, assuming it belongs to the military. "Spoils of war, sir." Thirsk says simply. After much rustling and searching, the clerk finds a piece of paper which confirms this and he's free to go.

Thirsk moves through the camp easier than the others, his distinctive look marking him out as one of the heroes, earning him enough space to move in. He approaches Ric'lail and says "I could do with a place to stay as well, my friend. I hope you've got room for an old warhorse like me."

It is only after the disparaging comment that a slight smile returns to his glum face. He says "Maybe the Maltirians gave in when they saw the filing system they'd inherit should they win?" to Andra's comment.

[Marillion]

Vachel felt nothing other than vague annoyance as these nameless, faceless, mindless bureaucrats picked apart his entire career. More than one desk jockey got ridiculously flustered when they found out Vachel didn't have a last name. Turns out Maestyr Ilyin hadn't bothered to fill out the proper adoption forms, a problem that was settled when he was officially recorded as Vachel Templeborn. They may as well have called him Vachel Bastardborn, or Vachel Myparentsdidntlovemeborn...No matter. One more official function, and it would all be over.

The only real problem occurred when he led James into the office, which apparently is frowned upon. James was tricked out the door, following an apple core thrown by a slightly less incompetent clerk. As Vachel was promised many official honors for 'relentless valor in the face of overwhelming odds', there was a crunching noise, followed by shouts of "AH! It BIT me!!". The clerk suppressed a smile, had Vachel fill out a form reporting an injury caused by an unruly animal, and fined him 10 silver pieces.

Leading the muzzled and amazingly disgruntled mule behind what used to be his team, Vachel laughed loudly at Thirsk's comment. "I vould not doubt it. Vould you believe, zhey vanted to put Jhames down? Who vould ever vant to hurt such a loyal and friendly companion?" Vachel scratched James' chin; James tried to bite Vachel, and when he realized he couldn't, settled for a headbutt, though still allowed himself to be led.

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail

The gray elf nods warmly in response to Thirsk.

"Of course..."

A slow, devious grin spreads across his face.

"...Malcolm, my old friend."

As Vachel leads James up alongside, the elf knees his mount into a carefully executed series of sidesteps away from the unruly mule. All animals had certain noble characteristics, to be sure, but that one...he glances at his floating crystal appreciatively.

At least you don't bite.

Heh...don't? Haven't, sir. Haven't.

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

Veln moves through the masses of people quite easily, though he does seem to try to keep a low profile. He looks around nervously, afraid to be recognised. His name doesn't give him much trouble, the Sahars had paid enough money to make sure the government never saw them as criminals, and at least that part of his father's legacy had survived, but every time the name Sahar is spoken out Veln winces. Eventually he finds his way back to the others, the combined forces of his hangover and the papermill seemingly having reduced his brain to a bloody pulp.

"Urgh, didn't really miss this either, part of me regrets the Maltirians not attacking Elektra itself, maybe then there wouldn't be so many bureaucrats. Ric, whenever you want to go, lead the way. Or is there something else we have to attend to Sarge?"

[Febreezium]

"I knew I was going to regret letting people call me Malcolm," Thirsk said, half-serious. When Veln approached, he grinned.

"It's Thirsk now, Veln, I'm not in charge of you any more. Which will probably be a good thing; young man, away from women for so long, I'd dread to think what you might get up to back here in Port Elektra!"

Laughing, he said "Ric'lail, lead the way!"

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

Veln laughs, though it isn't his usual deep, hearty laugh. "Urgh, my head, hehe, I guess I wouldn't count Andra as a lady either. It's been long though, don't you have any sisters Ric?" Veln gives the elf a mischievous grin.

[Rhiannon87]

Andra rolls her eyes at Thirsk's comment, and shoots a half-hearted glare at Veln. As the others prepare to follow Ric'lail to his family's home, she hesitates, thinking. "I... really should get back to see my sister. Who is engaged," she adds quickly, shooting a sideways glance at Veln. Five years she's been away from Dyana, and now that she's actually getting to return, she's nervous. She looks up at the elf. "Mind if I drop in later for a visit, though?" It's strange; she hated the war, hated the army, and on more than one occasion hated every single one of the men standing before her, but the thought of not seeing them again is upsetting. "I'll walk there with you so I know how to get there."

She just hopes they won't run into anyone with any particular grudges on the way there. Andra glances at Veln again. It certainly would be interesting to see how he'd deal with being back home. She'd have to keep an eye on him.

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

"Glad you said that, saved me a detour there." Veln says at Andra's comment about her sister being engaged. Even though he tries to act relaxed he's still looking around rather nervously and a few moments later he pulls the hood of his cloak over his head.

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Oliver holds the reigns of his horse tight as Vach approaches with the mule, making other animals nervous. Jasper never bothered him much, being mostly a playful scamp, but the mule...

"Did James try to kick someone again?"

Turning to Thrisk, Oliver slyly remarks, supressing a chuckle, "Well, sir, you were so insistent on what to call you."

[Febreezium]

Thirsk merely grins ruefully, following Ric'lail and taking in the new streets of Port Elektra.

But so much had changed. Was it too much to hope that... that a lot had changed? It probably was, he hadn't gone through fifteen years of fighting to become soppy and hopeful now.

"We've fought things less belligerent than James," he commented, looking the horse in the eyes, still smiling.

[Rhiannon87]

Andra, like Thirsk, looks around the streets, smiling faintly at familiar sights and making note of new places. At Veln's remark about her younger sister, she grins and lightly elbows him in the side. "Eh, even if she wasn't engaged, she'd never go for a guy like you," she teases him. "Dyana's always preferred scrawny, sailor types." At least, she did five years ago. She and her sister had written letters, but a few sheets of paper every couple months wasn't nearly enough.

Jasper trots alongside his master, sniffing the ground and buildings. He wanders over the Thirsk and starts sniffing at his armor; the deep crystal had always fascinated the dog. He stays well away from the ill-tempered mule, however, having learned not to irritate it many months ago.

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail

Ric'lail rides along quietly, privately pleased that his friends and comrades have chosen to accept his invitation. Somewhere off in the distance he can feel the diminishing presence of his psicrystal, still grumbling as it skitters from rooftop to rooftop on spindly legs of ectoplasm. His parents would remember the crystal. Psionic talent hadn't surfaced in the bloodline for several generations, but there had been cases in the past, and the ordeal of fashioning the crystal and calving the personality shard that animated it had been...memorable. Veln's comment draws him out of his personal cogitations, and he rejoins the conversation with a chuckle.

"Three sisters, Veln. Your choice. The youngest is...mm...ten times your age, roughly? And thin for your tastes too, I think. Best of luck, there, though. She can be...well. You know how women are."

He pauses, silently considering what he'd just said aloud.

My. That...wasn't even uncomfortable. And I just made a joke. About one of my family members. In bed with a human! My, indeed. It seems this war has changed some things.

He shakes his head and turns to Andra as she voices her request.

This is unexpected. She seems to want to continue our association. This is uncharacteristically social of her...but then, I've never been able to predict humans well, and Andra perhaps least of all.

He tips his head graciously and smiles again. These humans smiled so often; the habit had rubbed off, as much as it still surprised him when he caught himself reciprocating. Such an open, emotional culture. It was almost refreshing after the polite seclusion and disinterest that were so ingrained in the daily practices of gray elven routine.

"Yes, of course. I'm sure we'll all dine later. You're more than welcome to join us, Andra. Any time, in fact. I'm afraid my study will be...lonely, without the five of you, after all this time. Please visit whenever you can. My work can always wait an hour or two."

Veln's furtive scanning eventually catches Ric'lail's eye, but only because the tension seems so out of character for the big soldier. Even in the heat of battle he swung his glaive with little apparent effort, and had been known to leap into close combat against three other men with less hesitation than he was showing now. The elf's brow furrowed inside his hood.

I do hope he's not regretting that he accept my offer of hospitality. Surely the prospect of my family can't be that intimidating, especially to him. And it's hardly as though there are thugs waiting in the shadows to put a knife into him. He's a war hero. Who would even entertain the notion..?


-------------
Later on...
-------------

House Lureba'an-After passing through several districts and into the Aristocrat's Quarter of the Old City, the party eventually arrives at the outskirts of House Lureba'an's small city estate.

The architecture of the estate is obviously very old, composed in an ancient and traditional style of elven construction that had long since fallen out of popular fashion. Situated near the center of a large plot of land, the house is all long, gentle curves and contoured arches, rounded rooftops with low gables setting a decidedly organic tone while a plentiful array of regal crystal-glass windows acted as a visual counterpoint to the rest of the flowing structure. Like most elven homes it appears to have been grown in place according to the whims of the land itself at the time when the world was made, rather than having been constructed atop it at some later date. Climbing vines and small trees are visibly incorporated into many aspects of the house's structure, while the surrounding grounds are thick with massive evergreens, cedar and pine and spruce growing in such abundance that much of the ancient residence is obscured from sight from any distance away. Tiles of dully polished river-rock adorn the roof of the modestly turreted second story. The sprawling ground floor's walls appear to be built of similar stonework, utilizing larger rocks interspersed with massive beams of black oak and darkwood. Moss and other low green plants cover a good portion of the structure's exposed walls; rather than giving the place a look of abandonment, however, the plant life makes it seem that the building was put in place specifically to accommodate the growth of the local mosses and ferns that always grow so prolifically in shaded forest areas.

All of that included, the manor somehow still manages to escape looking like the dug-in burrows of the hobbitfolk. As charming and cozy as such dwellings often are, this home of elves seems equally inviting, but in a different way. The lazily waving Star-and-Stag of Lureba'an affixed to the top of the residence, perhaps, or maybe the well-kept path leading through the lovingly cultivated gardens and orchards that surround the place. The grounds extend for perhaps an acre on each side of the house, and a picturesque stream running from a spring-fed pool waters much of the area before winding off the property toward the Roduin. In short, the estate of House Lure'baan seems wholesome and impossibly secluded, a pocket of arboreal sanctuary entirely separated from the hustle and bustle of the city streaming by around it.

[Rhiannon87]

Andra parts ways with the group outside the estate, thanking Ric'lail for his invitation to dinner. She assumes her sister will, most likely, want to spend some time with her... but depending on how things went, she might want to duck out for a few hours. She'd never mentioned the desertion attempts to Dyana; that was the kind of thing that generally needed to be explained in person. She wasn't sure what her sister would think... and she was even less sure how her sister's fiance would feel.

OOC:

This timed out nicely... Hopefully by the time I have internet back, Andra will be rejoining the boys somewhere, be it at the manor or at the ceremony.

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Despite the drastic shift in architecture, Oliver notices little difference between the estate and the rest of the city. The massive city with all of multi-story buildings was completely foreign. His home village was nothing like this place. The slight queasiness he felt was masked by his usual calm. Upon seeing the outcropping of trees, Thres flies off to perch.

When Andra leaves, Oliver says goodbye and offers congratulations for her sister. When food is mentioned, he suddenly remembers that he hasn't eaten a real meal for a long time. Both sides' rations were rather... bad, and one can only do so much with what scavenges in a warzone.

"To think we may have eaten our last raccoon kabob last week."

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

"Damn Ric, I think I could get used to this." The moment they're off the streets Veln pulls down his hood again, looking around and absorbing the serene atmosphere. "Could you show us around, and maybe introduce us to your, eh, family?" Veln winks and is all grin again.

[Febreezium]

Before the house

Thirsk moved to pet Jasper, and let him have a much closer sniff of his shield for about the hundredth time. Not that he minded.

At the house

Thirsk takes in the scenery silently, amazed. It was almost culture-shock; the world he'd stepped into was so different from anything he'd ever known. He ran his fingers along the walls, enjoying their rich texture, and whistled.

"Yeah, Oliver, I can't imagine we'll be eating Raccoon again here." he says softly.

I'm concious of the fact that Marillion hasn't posted for a couple of days and we should probably wait for him before going into any kind of dinner scene.

[Marillion]

Sorry, really busy day yesterday, and another busy day coming up. I'll make a post later today, but if this happens again, don't let me hold things up. General rule of thumb is, Vachel goes where the food is. :smalltongue:

[Febreezium]

For teh record, my GF is visiting me in Nevada and I will continue to be silent until at least later tonight. Carry on!

Giggady giggady.



[OOC: With everyone being busy over the next couple days, I think we might as well wait to go to a dinner scene / the ceremony the next day.]

[Marillion]

Vachel

On the road

"No, he did not kick. He bit someone's leg, but if he'd just given Jhames zhe apple instead of teasing him vith it, zhis never vould have happened. And zhen zhey made me put zhis contraption on him! He is just miserable. James brayed dejectedly.


Upon reaching Ric's house, Vachel is both sad and relieved to see Andra go. He waves at her back, then gives the impressive house a once-over. Much different from the blocky, imposing temple and the rigid city buildings, Vachel almost feels at peace here.

"Honestly, I did not find zhe raccoon too horrible. A bit tough for my liking, but not horrible. Vhat sort of food do zhe elves eat?"

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail

Ric'lail watches passively as Andra makes her way out of the grounds.

Perhaps she'll find what she's looking for, now that we're back home.

Mention of raccoon kabob catches his attention. Or, a part of it, at least.

It wasn't that bad, was it? It looked like Oliver did a decent job with what he was working with. Ah, and everything's ready, by the way. The guest house has been prepared, and your parents are in the white cabana in the southeast garden. Your siblings are all away on business.

Ah. Thank you. Veln will be so disappointed, though.

What? Why would he...?

Oh, no reason. Don't mind me.

He responds to Vachel's query with with half a mind, gazing across the grounds to where he remembers the cabana to be.

"No raccoon here, Vachel. Though...if you really desire one, there are some on the grounds, I believe. One could be harvested, and elven cooking makes most meats remarkably tender, when meat is served at all."

He stands in his stirrups and flips his hood back to get a better look as he peers into the distance, his face creasing in mild concern.

Where...?

Ah, yes. They moved the cabana when the stream changed course a few years ago. Further to the left, I think, from where you are?

He smiles in relief and turns to the paladin.

"Excepting a special request from yourself, though, the main course will probably be something from the forests outside the city. Venison, or a wild hog. Bread and fresh butter. Whatever is in season from the orchards, in a salad if there are greens available. A light summer wine, and perhaps some fruit preserves or pies for dessert."

The elf lifts a hand, gesturing to the tip of the small structure visible in the distance.

"My parents are here in the gardens. Come, and I will introduce you."

A brief ride across the grounds brings them to the cabana. Ric'lail dismounts and approaches, kneeling at the foot of the white steps and speaking quietly in elven.

Elven (Ric'lail)-"Mother. Father. I have returned. I offer all my greetings and respect, and request sanctuary for my comrades and myself. Your good health honors the family, as ever."

Both of the two elves in the cabana rise. They are tall for their species, making it clear where Ric'lail has gotten his relatively impressive stature. The family eyes stand out immediately, and it is also clear that their shoulder-length hair was once the same shade of brilliant silver as Ric'lail's. Their features are composed, but their eyes sparkle with emotion. His father steps forward and takes Ric'lail's hand, helping him to his feet.

Elven (father)-
"You are welcome here, as ever, my son. Your life brings honor to our family. I wish only that the rest of your siblings were here to share in the joy of your safe returns."

The aged elf turns to face the rest of the group, inclining his head in a gesture of respect before speaking. His words are addressed to his son, but it seems clear he expected the visitors to respond.

"But who are your guests? I would know of their names and deeds. That you have brought them here surely means that you know them as friends, and they are as welcome as you in our house."

[Febreezium]

"Malcolm Thirsk," he says, nodding. "Former Sergeant Major of your son and your other guests. Your home is amazing, sheer luxury, and I'd think so even if I hadn't spent the last decade or so sleeping on forest floors."

[Marillion]

Vachel
"I am Vachel, paladin of Heirvoneous, and brother-in-arms of your son. Zhis is Jhames, my mule, and I believe I have need of a stable so zhat he does not cause damage to your magnificent house." James' ears flattened, but he remained on his best behavior...for the moment.

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Dismounting when arriving on the grounds, Oliver guides Starwill with the reigns while walking. Upon reaching Ric'lail's parents, Oliver kneels for a second, placing his spear on the ground, point facing away from the hosts.

Facing the elders, he speaks his greeting in a slightly peculiar dialect of elven,
"My name is Oliver; I am a planesrider of the clan. It has been an honor to spill blood with your kin."

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

Veln makes a slight bow. "I'm Veln, your son has saved my skin often enough." Might be best not to ask for the daughter if I have to stay here for some time.

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail

The aged elf listens to the introductions quietly. He allows each member of the small group to speak without interference, glancing at his wife as Oliver speaks. Her mouth crooks briefly into a surprisingly expressive smile and she inclines her head to the young sorcerer, but chooses to leave the speaking to her mate. Her smile seems to catch him off guard, but he merely turns back to face his guests and continues.

"You speak highly of our youngest, humans! We bid you welcome, as I said. I am called Taurnil; my wife is called Alessë. Accommodations have been prepared for you in the guesthouse in the cherry orchard behind the manor. Any and all of you may stay as long as you have need or desire. Though..."

He casts his eyes over the group, and his otherwise smooth features wrinkle briefly into an expression of thought that is humorously reminscent of his absent-minded offspring.

"...I was led to believe there would be another. A human female? I regret that she is not present to share her stories along with the rest of you, but those in attendance are no doubt possess tales and exploits more than sufficient to fill weeks, let alone pass a single evening. The evening meal will be served at dusk; this is late according to the human tradition of meals, I understand, but your arrival was unexpected, and it would shame us to offer you less than our best on your first night in the Port Elektra after such a long absence in honorable military service.

House Lureba'an's High Seat turns to face Vachel and James as he finishes speaking. Only a trace of a smile curls the corners of his lips upward, but he speaks with a rich, sparkling voice that conveys the warmth of his emotions more clearly than even a full-mouthed grin could have.

"Paladin Vachel. Worry not about your creature. You may loose him at will. House Lureba'an possesses no stables, but...I think it unlikely that James will wander too far or cause my House irreparable damage. All of you have served and deserve your rest. He is our guest as much as you."

The Lady Alessë glides to stand next to her husband and touches him gently on the back of one hand. Taurnil glances back, and their large violet eyes sparkle with unsaid words. Ric'lail has always asserted that no other living members of his family are known to possess psionic talent of any sort, but the way the two venerable elves seem to communicate without words almost seems to cast doubt upon that particular assertion. Lord Taurnil nods and steps forward.

"Forgive me. I pour too many words on tired ears, as our youngest often does. I regret to admit that he has inherited that tendency from me. Go, rest. Your company at tonight's meal will be a pleasure. Use anything you have need of, and do not hesitate to ask for more should you run short of anything. Until tonight, my guests."

The white-haired couple turns and glides away together without another word. They move with a grace and obvious unity that belies that physical distance between them. Something about the couple touches their human guests. Clearly, the two have spent many centuries together and share a bond that transcends their physical bodies. Ric'lail turns to regard his friends after casting a long look after his retreating parents. He grins nervously.

"Well. Now you have met my parents. Father seems quite pleased with all of you. And mother..."

Large violet eyes turn to regard Oliver curiously.

"...seems quite taken with you, Oliver of the clan. She rode with the horse nomads for some time in her youth. I have no doubt she will deeply enjoy speaking with you, and hearing of your plan to reunite your people."

[Rhiannon87]

Elsewhere in the city...


Andra walks up the stairs to her apartment. Is it even really hers, anymore? She hasn't lived here for five years, though she sent majority of her monthly stipend back to Dyana each month to help pay the rent. She reaches the door and pauses, uncertain if she should knock or just walk in. She still has the keys and all, but...

After a few moments of indecision, she settles on knocking loudly. For a few moments, there's no response, then she hears the sound of footsteps approaching the door. It swings open, revealing her little sister.

The two women stare at each other for a few seconds in silence, then Dyana nearly tackles Andra in a hug. "Andra! You didn't have to knock, you dummy, you live here!"

Andra grins, blinking back tears. "Didn't want to interrupt anything," she replies. "I wasn't sure if your... if Darrick was here."

Dyana steps back. "He is! We were just about to start making dinner, I can-- I'll set out another plate. Are you hungry? Do you want something to drink? I left your room the way it was, cleaned it so it wouldn't get dusty, but you can put your things down, if you want, maybe get changed..." She trails off, beaming. "Sorry. I'm rambling. It's just so good to see you again!"

"Dinner would be great," Andra replies. She follows her sister inside, noting all the changes to the apartment. Some new furniture, a new rug on the floor, different curtains.

"I can't believe it's been five years," Dyana says, guiding her sister to a chair and handing her a cup of water. "I don't-- I don't want to make you feel bad or anything, but... didn't you get leave time? I saw other soldiers around here sometimes, but you never..."

Andra looks down, frowning. "I got leave, sometimes, but usually I was at least a hundred miles away. Too far to get back home. And when I tried to come visit..." She trails off and shrugs, glancing at her arm. She's got the sleeves rolled down, covering the brand, and now that she's here she doesn't want to tell her sister.

[RebelRogue]

As Andra steps into the living room while Dyana leaves for the kitchen, she notices a man sitting at the table - made for two - looking up at her. At first she doesn't recognize him, but quickly realises that it's Darrick, Dyana's boyfriend... well, husband-to-be! Andra still finds the idea that her little sister is getting married to this man a bit odd.

During the five years Andra's been gone, Darrick's face has grown weathered, making him look much older than his 27 summers. Life at sea does that to a man. The beard he's grown helps too.

Appearantly, he takes a moment to recognize Andra too, before getting up and approaching her. So, you're back, Andra, he greets her with a small nod to himself. He takes a deep, long look at her as there's a few seconds of uncomfortable silence between the two, disturbed only by the background noise of Dyana scaling fish. I suppose you've had a rough time during the war, he finally says. During all of this, Darrick's face continually wears a slight frown. Not exactly the warmest of welcomes, but knowing Darrick, it doesn't necessarily indicate hostility either.

[RebelRogue]

It's a wonderful evening at the Lureba'an estate. You all enjoy the stark contrast of the luxury compared to what you've been used to for the last few years. For some of you, it's the first time you've ever experienced accomodation of this quality. The food is excellent, but to the surprise of everyone - even Riclail - it is wonderfully fragrant, seasoned with exotic spices unknown to you. According to Taurnil these are imported from the southern kingdom of Methia. Those of you who know a little about geography have but heard of this far-away land, its hot climate, and foreign architecture. During the last year, Methian spices have become something of a fad amongst the wealthy in Port Elektra in food as well as perfumes. Alessë voices a minor complaint about some nobles who take this too far, overpowering food with strong spices - perhaps the elven palate is less sturdy than those of humans. The meal you are served is certainly subtle and elegant in its composition.

After dinner, you spend some time talking, telling the Lureba'ans about some of your more heroic deeds and generally relaxing with a glass of fine elven wine in the beautiful orchard. After enjoying the sunset together - it sets in the southwest, so the local stormclouds of the temple aren't in its way - you all find yourselves tired and go to sleep.

You all wake up fully rested. It's been a long time since you've slept in real beds. After a warm bath and a light breakfast it's time to start the day. It's still a few hours to the ceremony at Gideon Square, which is is the central part of Part Elektra, about a quarter of travel time away.

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail Lureba'an

Celaer dances nervously for a few steps as Ric'lail passes the brush over his flanks. The press of the city's crowds streaming by just beyond the borders of the estate makes the large horse nervous. He's skittish at the best of times, and Ric'lail had never trained him to work in crowded areas. On the battlefield, crowded areas made for dead Psions, especially if Vachel or Veln didn't happen to appear in the nick of time.

I've always wondered how The Monk managed it for so long. Dancing around the battlefield as though there weren't massive men with pointed instruments swarming all around and trying to kill him. Crazy fellow. Made it through well enough, though.

So he did. Different strokes for different folks, and all that, eh? Maybe he knew something we didn't.

We knew enough. Or learned enough, at least. Now there's just this last public hooplah before I can get back to my work with the Lodge.

The elf shakes loose hair off his cloak and settles his mount with a gentle touch. It has been quite some time since the horse has had a proper brushing, and Ric'lail had decided to take the opportunity to comb out the burrs, tangles and snarls the animal's woolly coat had accumulated over the past months.

"Hold still, you lump. I'll be done soon enough and you can busy yourself in the orchards until we leave, eh? You're not such a bad horse, really. As moody as Andra on one of her bad days, but then she's not so bad either, really."

A last few licks with the brush and the grooming is complete, or at least as complete as Celaer is willing to stand for. Ric'lail gives the horse a slap on the rump to start him on his way and watches as the creature canters off to enjoy a few more hours of his well-earned vacation.

Now then...speaking of Andra, where is everyone else? The sun's been up for hours. Surely they don't find the estate that relaxing...

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Not finding any comfort in the guest house, Oliver moves out into the manor grounds at some point during the night. The provided bed was just too soft and filled with some kind of bird feathers... Roaming about the pseudo-forest for a bit, he finds a tree to sit against and falls asleep.

In his dreams, Oliver sees a coiled snake in the ocean, wrapped around stone and lightning. A wasteland far away engulfed in fire as the moon rises over the corpse of a dead unicorn. This wakes Oliver up, but he soon goes back to sleep and dreams the forgettable things humans often dream.

With the sun already up when Oliver gets up, the sorcerer instinctively looks around for what the scavenging party has found for breakfast. Realizing that there would be no more scavenging, he goes to find some actual foodstuffs. Able to find some eggs, day-old bread, bacon, and some things to make them a little better, Oliver starts up a small cooking fire.

He cooks without paying much mind to Ric'lail grooming his horse. The breakfast is given a clan kicker. The eggs are tinted red with some raspberry and the bacon is covered in pepper. The bread is fried in the bacon grease until it is crispy and the other foods are stuffed in the middle of the bread chunks. Not thinking he could be the only one eating, several breakfast's worth of food is now ready for consumption. Oliver leaves it in the pot, ready for his comrades.

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

Veln wakes up early, still used to having guard duty in the early hours of day. He scavenges the manor for something edible and eventually goes outside, finding a secluded place amongst the trees. He sits there for some time, staring at the fresh morning's sky and softly singing children's songs to himself. Back home...

After some time the smell of more food catches Veln's senses and he rises again, stepping out of the trees to greet Oliver and Ric'lail. "G'morning, I hope there's still some left for me?" With that he picks up some pieces of bread and starts eating. "Can't have enough breakfasts, hah."

[Rhiannon87]

"Rough time would be putting it mildly," Andra replies. Another few moments pass in uncomfortable silence, then she stands and gestures at the hall. "I'm going to put my things down, get cleaned up before dinner," she says.

She hides out in her room, listening to the faint conversation between Darrick and Dyana, until her sister calls her for dinner. The conversation is mostly about the war, a subject Andra is rather weary of, but she doesn't have the heart to turn down her sister's questions.

"That sounds like quite an interesting group," Dyana says after Andra describes her companions. "Ever tell them anything about me?"

"My sister's getting married, Vachel! I just wanted to get out of her so she didn't have to wait on me. And you dragged me back here."

Andra shakes her head slightly, to clear it. "A bit," she replies. "We didn't talk about our families much... reminded us all too much of home, and how much we missed it."

As she talks, Andra reaches up to brush a stray lock of hair off her face. Her sleeve falls open slightly, revealing the brand on her arm. "What's that?" Dyana asks. Andra pulls her arm back, but Dyana's quick enough to grab it and look at the old burns. "Oh, gods, Andra, what happened?"

Andra sighs. "I tried to come home," she says quietly. "After I got your letter, saying you were engaged. You said you were going to wait for me to come home before you got married. I didn't want to make you wait." She glances back and forth between Dyana and Darrick; Dyana looks practically on the verge of tears, while Darrick is a bit harder to read.

[Febreezium]

Thirsk wakes up on the floor. In the hall. With a bottle in his hand. His mouth tasted like his boots, and his tongue had the same consistency. He rolls over and winces, wondering where he'd got the bottle of...

He holds the bottle to his eyes and looks at it through bloodshot eyes. The light burns as he reads 'Whiskey'. He should either blame Veln or apologize for leaving the property to seek some alcohol.

He hoped that was the only thing he'd have to apologize for.

Getting to his feet was a slow, painful process, but it came with the reward of a spinning headache and overwhelming nausea. A hangover wasn't enough to stop him, though, and he forced through the creaking world to the source of delicious breakfast smells.

Without speaking, he sits down and helps himself to some breakfast, placing the bottle of whiskey on the table as both a message and a warning against inquiry.

[Marillion]

Vachel

Vachel, like Thirsk, has a blinding headache, but his doesn't come from drink. That damnable mule had run amok outside, and after 3 kicks, 5 flying tackles, a bite, and an absurd episode wherein the paladin and the mule engaged in a very one-sided headbutting contest on slick mud, Vachel finally secured James to a post with some chain with only minor cosmetic damage to the grounds and passed out next to him.

James woke him up in the middle of the night by licking him, of all things.

Not a good start to the day when James is being nice. It means he's plotting something...

After his bath, Vachel sits down and waits for everyone else to serve themselves so that he can take all of the leftovers. His appetite had caused some problems before... but it's not as if the squad couldn't live off the land if they wanted to! It's not his fault he needs all that food!

As he obliterates his portion, he mumbles through the delicious food "Reec, do you mind if Jhames stays here until zhe end of zhe festival?"

[blue chicken]

Marillion-I'm assuming Vachel has found his way to the outdoor breakfast, since he's addressing Ric'lail. Hope I'm not misreading. I'll edit it if I am.

Ric'lail

With Caelar's grooming finished, the scent of bacon finally catches the attenion of Ric'lail's one-track mind. From that point it doesn't take him long to wander through the small grove to where some of his comrades are gathering. He dithers for a moment before sweeping in to filch some of the leftover bacon.

Mmmmf. Who knew strips of pork fried in their own fat could be so delectable? Oliver does have a way with these things.

He pauses to lick his fingers impolitely, privately glad that only his close friends are present to witness the display. Eventually he is satisfied with the (relative) cleanliness of his digits and folds his hands back into his voluminous sleeves.

"My thanks, Oliver. I broke my fast when I rose, but this smelled so good I couldn't leave it all to Vachel. And speaking of you, Vachel, of course you can leave James here. Why is he tethered, by the way? Did the two of you...have an incident last night? I myself slept very well. My study was dusty, but I did miss it. I trust that all of you had everything you needed?"

He looks around absently as he awaits their responses.

"Where, ah...is Malcolm?"

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

"Thirsk? Ah, I had some leftovers from a couple of days ago, so I thought I'd make him happy with 'em. Give me a second, I think I saw him on the floor inside." Veln walks inside and starts looking for Thirsk. When he finds him in the kitchen he sits down in front of him and takes the bottle away. "Probably best for all of us if I take this. Sarge? C'mon, everyone else is outside, might as well get some fresh air before the ceremony." He drags Thirsk up and outside.

[Febreezium]

"Veln..." Thirsk forces the word through sandpaper lips. "'m hungry. And hungover. Bloody whiskey. Was this yours?"

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

Thanks the gods, he doesn't remember. "Yes, yes it was. Guess you forgot to give it back after we heard about the truce, but that's ok. Now, on your feet, there's food outside, and I'll get you some water too." Veln helps Thirsk outside and fills his waterskin with fresh water from the stream, then hands it back to him.

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail

Oh, my. Already?

What do you mean 'already?' You know how he is anytime we're not in immediate danger of being skewered.

Yes, but elven wine...? He must have depleted half our cellar stocks to be looking so...thrashed.

The elf's wide eyes and neutral expression broadcast his surprise clearly. He most certainly believes himself to he hiding his emotions admirably, but of all the surviving members of the depleted military cadre, he has always been the easiest to read.

"Good...morning, Malcolm. Did you, ah...enjoy the guesthouse?"

[Febreezium]

"This morning hurts. Bloody whiskey," Thirsk manages. He picks at the bread and food, then processes Ric'lail's sentence. "Subtle, Ric'lail. Yes, I got drunk last night and yes, this morning I'm paying for it. Is there something... something wrong with a 'returning Hero' enjoying himself? Now, I'm assuming I didn't do anything embarrassing, so I'd just like to have some breakfast and sober up for... for the ceremony later."

Eyes cast down, he continues to eat. He's only a peace-time drinker, that's what he tells himself, but this time he knows it's different. And he is, if he's really honest with himself, terrified about how low he could sink. He almost hoped that those Maltirians would declare war again.

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Finishing the last bit of his fried breakfast, Oliver watches as Thirsk is lead to the pot. Still a little slugish from sleeping in and seeing the others in mostly a similar state, he gets up and rummages slowly around his pouch for a root. Crushing it while saying a few non-words in a draconic accent, small staticy lightning bolts hit everyone nearby. Now everything was speeding up to usual speed, except for possibly Thres and Ric'lail, hasted without really needing it. One of Oliver's more recent tricks, the last time he used it was during a long march out in the middle of nowhere.

"Go easy on that stuff, it's pretty fatty. I can't do anything to prevent you from throwing it up. You know the rules, I only cook breakfast once." Oliver remarks to the hungover Thrisk.

Without further remark, Oliver goes over to where he kept his riding gear and saddles Starwill for the day.

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail

Ric'lail blinks several times. He hadn't expected that sort of response; surely Thirsk wasn't offended? Probably not. He was gruff on occasion, but thick-skinned as a rule. The elf isn't entirely sure he'd know how to insult him even if he intended to.


Aha. Whisky. VELN'S whiskey. That explains it. Foul stuff. I don't know how Malcolm manages to channel sometimes, with everything he puts into his body.

Like I said, maybe these other folks know something we don't. That's why you're always trying to pay attention to them, anyway.

So it is.

He nods to himself and dusts his hands nervously.

"Right. Well then. Ah...Oliver's got the right idea, it looks like. It shouldn't be too long before we need to head out. I'm going to saddle Caelar, if I can drag him away from whatever he's wandered into. If anyone else would like a ride...?"

His thin shoulders rise in a half-shrug as he leaves the offer on the table and move away from the group. Caelar might not have been as much of a handful as James, but when that damnable animal wanted to make himself scarce...

[Febreezium]

This seems like a good place for a time shift, bring Andra back into the plot.

"Don't worry about me, Oliver. There won't be any vomitous shennanigans."

[RebelRogue]

Darrick stares at Andra's tattoo with a stern look on his face. You've disgraced yourself!, he finally groans. And your sister too!, he adds is a lower voice while getting up to comfort Dyana by laying a hand on her shoulder. It doesn't seem to help her stream of tears much. He looks genuinely sad and upset to see her in this state.

[Rhiannon87]

"What's the more disgraceful: blithely going along with something you think is wrong, or standing up and trying to fight?" Andra snaps at Darrick. She glances at her sister. "I'm sorry, Dy. I'll leave you two alone." She abruptly stands and stalks to her room. It's too late for her to join the others at Ric'lail's house, much as she might prefer the company of her comrades to this. Andra flops down on the bed and stares up at the ceiling. Who would have thought, after years of hating the army and longing for home, that she'd find herself missing it so soon?

[RebelRogue]

After the breakfast and a bit of relaxing, you decide it's time to leave for Gideon square. It's still a full hour to the ceremony, but it might get crowded there, so being early doesn't hurt. The worst thing that can happen is finding the time to see Port Elektra again by full daylight, something neither of you have experienced for a long time. And the weather is good. Somehow, the storm cloud of the temple is always conveniently well-behaved when major events or celebrations like this happens.

You gather what personal belongings you feel appropriate to wear at a military ceremony and thank your hosts for their hospitality. You all leave the premises of the Lureba’an Estate to find yourself in the streets of the Aristocrat’s Quarter. Waiting for you there is a familiar feminine figure. It is Andra.

Vachel:
As you get into the streets, you have an eerie feeling of being watched from the corner of your eye. However, when you look to see, nothing is there.

Andra:
You've only been waiting for a few minutes, but during the whole time you've gotten the feeling of being observed. With your battle-trained eyes, you've managed to get the glimpse of a human figure hiding nearby. As the others get there, you finally get a full, good look at the man, a somewhat shabby human male. He is underdressed for this part of town (so is Andra, though), peeking out from behind a corner some eighty feet away. He looks like he's searching the group with his eyes. Right before slipping into hiding again, you barely notice him narrowing his eyes as he looks directly at Veln!.

Ric'lail:
As you leave the gate, your fine elven senses tell you that something is wrong. After scanning the surroundings, you notice a human male hiding around a distant corner, some eighty feet away or so. Clearly dirty looking and in with clothes uncummon in this district, you're sure he's not a native. He seems to examine all of you before he steps around the corner again.

Did you notice that he was looking directly at Veln most of the time?

[Rhiannon87]

Andra raises a hand in greeting at the sight of the men she'd spent the war working and living with. She looks tired, and considering how much she'd longed to come home, less happy than the men might expect. She's armed and armored, with Jasper sniffing around at her side.

As soon as Veln is close, she steps towards him, positioning herself between him and the last place she saw the watcher. "Someone's taking a bit of an interest in you," she murmurs, jerking her head over her shoulder. "Human male, shabbily dressed, staring right at you. He's been watching me ever since I got here." Years of working as a scout have clearly ingrained certain habits in Andra. She automatically glances at Thirsk for directions before realizing that he's not her commander anymore, and he's brutally hungover.

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail

Yes, I suppose he was, wasn't he? Go after him. Stay out of sight. Run across the rooftops where you can to save time. Float across the gaps where you have to so you don't lose him. Don't stray more than a mile...I want to maintain our link, but tail him as far as you are able before we lose contact.

Ric'lail reaches up to free the crystal from its setting, disguising the motion as wiping the sweat that was accumulating under his hood from his brow. He palms the crystal as he does so, and a faint but evocative scent fills the air for a fraction of a second. It stirs half-remembered memories in the small group surrounding him but is gone before the thoughts can surface, as it always is. All of them have come to recognize it as a sign that the elf has channeled a power of some sort. He drops the crystal to the ground once his hand has returned to the pommel of Caelar's saddle, and it lands with a soft, glassy ploing. It rights itself immediately, sprouts its six wispy ectoplasmic legs, and scampers off toward the building closest to where the observer had vanished.

Mechanics-Using 3 power points to manifest Psionic Levitate on the psicrystal (since I can target personal powers on the crystal if I choose.) The power is the same as levitate, except it's been amended in Complete Psionic to say that the target can also move forward and backward, rather than just up and down.

Crystal is taking 10 on all climb checks (giving it a 24 modifier) to scale buildings (saving itself with levitation if it somehow fails...) and crossing gaps with Levitate (lasts 60 minutes, moves 20 feet/round, same as climb speed).

Hide roll to stay out of sight:[roll0]

Without taking his eyes from the corner the man vanished around, the elf chimes in to Andra's conversation out of the side of his mouth.

"Yes, Veln, I saw him too. I dispatched my crystal to keep an eye on him. Certainly not someone who belongs in this quarter. Have any dirty, disheveled friends who're eager to reconnect?"

He turns to Oliver without waiting for an answer. This is typical; his mind has sprung into ponder-plan-action mode, and when he's in this state it's normal behavior for him to skip from topic to topic a few steps behind his racing thoughts.

"Is your friend in the air this morning, Oliver? He can observe the whole crowd much better than my crystal. Better than mine sticks to the one mark while your avian comrade provides an overwatch for the rest of us."

[Febreezium]

Thirsk seems to cheer up a certain amount, his drooping mouth and dishevelled face lifting slightly. "Bloody good idea, Ric'lail. I'd cast around some... other help... if it wouldn't bring too much attention on us. Keep..." Thirsk realized he was about to ask to be kept updated, then falls silent. He still seems more awake, though, and he looks around eagerly.

[MCerberus]

Oliver

Reaching back into his own mind, Oliver tries to communicate with Thres through the familiar empathetic link. Sending out feelings of alert over hidden dangers, Oliver receives back some annoyance and eventually resignation. A small shriek rings out from the estate muffled by the noise of the city. Incomprehensible to everyone else, the call essentially said that Oliver now owes the bird 2 squirrels.

Falling back on learned behavior, Oliver steadies the reigns for a moment before he casts a familiar spell. While chanting he makes a claw with his right hand in front of his eyes. Moving it away, small red particles glow for a second before dissipating.

Casting Detect Magic in case there's something other than just a guy going on

"Thres will be able to keep an eye out for us. I don't think the bird likes the skies of this city though."

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

Veln looks around, a little too obviously, and straightens his chainshirt under his clothes. "Looks like they're already preparing to finish the job then. Be on your guard and have your defenses ready, and Ric, maybe you should tell your family that there's someone stalking around."

OOC:
Again, everyone knows that someone killed Veln's family, just not who it was or who Veln's family were.

[Rhiannon87]

"Let's keep moving," Andra suggests. "They might be less likely to attack in the midst of a crowd... and Jasper and I can keep watch during the ceremony." She smiles bitterly.

[RebelRogue]

The Psicrystal moves off in the direction of the stalker, effortlessly scaling a nearby building before moving out of sight. Neither of you have spotted him in the last half minute or so.

Thres takes to the skies too, while his master concentrates on the surroundings.

Oliver:
There's no magic auras nearby (other than those of your friends, but you're careful not to let them interfere with your magic)

[Febreezium]

"Yep, moving seems like a good idea. We can alert whatever security there is at the ceremony as well to make sure they're aware that something might happen."

Thirsk blinks a couple of times and prepares to move out with everyone.

[blue chicken]

Ric'lail

Ric'lail nods to himself, privately surprised that his crystal has lost track of the mysterious observer so quickly.

Keep looking. He can't have gone far.

The general lack of activity from his comrades also has him off balance. Usually, Thirsk was blood-and-iron, ready to go. Now, without his official rank, he seemed...reserved. Hesitant to draw upon the natural reserve of leadership that he'd cultivated over his years in the military. The elf flicks his reins nervously.

"Ahem. Yes. Well then, we wouldn't want to be late, and I think we've done all we can at the moment. So if the rest of you are ready, let's, ah, be off?"

[Rhiannon87]

Andra nods, scanning the area again, then starts walking slightly ahead of the group, automatically falling into the scout role. Jasper trots along beside her, sniffing at the ground. She's still within range of speaking, albeit loudly.


Andra and Jasper are gonna roll spot checks again to look for this guy, or anyone else who might be watching the group with a little too much interest.

Andra: [roll0]
Jasper: [roll1]

[mr. Tentacles]

Veln

Veln follows the others but uncharacteristically stays near the center of the group. He looks around to see if anyone is following them.